


Lovely Orbiting

by albabutter



Series: Vagabonds [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Canon Disabled Character, F/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-01-29 05:23:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12624177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albabutter/pseuds/albabutter
Summary: For one agonizing moment, Raven is overwhelmingly glad that she’s done. Her people are dead. She’s seen the bodies. There’s no hope. And she doesn’t have to live out the rest of her life, however short it is, wondering. The moment passes, and she swallows down the urge to throw up again. There’s nothing left in her stomach, and food is hard to come by. Dry heave at your own risk.





	1. Chapter 1

When Finn turns, Clarke’s the one to put him down.

Raven hates her for it. Hates that her own fingers are numb. Hates that even now, she can’t let him go. There’s bile in her throat, and they’re both crying, but Clarke doesn’t hesitate.

Raven hits the ground when Finn does, and all she can see is the hole in his head. His blood is seeping into the ground and running right towards her. She can’t feel her legs, and the brace makes it hard to move quickly, and he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone.

A pair of arms grab her from behind and haul her away. Bellamy doesn’t say anything, just sets her on her feet. Raven hears Clarke click the safety back on, and she can’t stop the burning. She retches on the ground.

* * *

“We’re going to the D.C. settlement.”

Raven nods, even though it’s not a question. “Good luck.” And she means it. Bellamy doesn’t thank her, but he squeezes her shoulder and hands her another box of ammunition. Clarke doesn’t give up that easy.

“You should come with us.”

Raven drops the bullets into her bag and swings it onto her back. Clarke looks guilty, and Raven is just too fucking tired to deal with anyone else’s baggage.

“There’s nothing there, Clarke. Not for me. Not anymore.” Not ever, really. Just the dead and the hungry, and everyone caught in between.

Clarke nods like she understands, but she glances at Bellamy, and Raven knows that she doesn’t understand. They still have people to look for. Octavia. Abbey. Wells.

For one agonizing moment, Raven is overwhelmingly glad that she’s done. Her people are dead. She’s seen the bodies. There’s no hope. And she doesn’t have to live out the rest of her life, however short it is, wondering. The moment passes, and she swallows down the urge to throw up again. There’s nothing left in her stomach, and food is hard to come by. Dry heave at your own risk.

“Where will you go?”

Raven shrugs. “West. Fewer people. Good farmland. Shit ton of corn. Not a bad place to wait for the end of the world.”

Clarke tries to smile, but it falls a little flat. “We might not be too far behind you. We just, we have to-” She stops and looks out at Bellamy who’s methodically cleaning his rifle.

“I know. I’ll keep an eye out for you. And a radio signal as soon as I can get my hands on some decent wire.”

Clarke looks like she wants to hug her, but thinks better of it. She reaches down into the front of her shirt and pulls out the two-headed deer necklace Finn made for her. She takes it off and hands it to Raven who takes it without thinking. It’s heavier than hers and still warm. Clarke’s face is still tear-stained, and she looks like she might start crying again, but her voice doesn’t crack.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

Raven slips the necklace over her own head and tucks it into her shirt where she hears it clink against hers.

“I know. I’ll keep this safe until you can come get it.”

Clarke seems to give in and wraps Raven in a hug. It’s awkward with all their gear and general aversion to touching each other, but Raven doesn’t push her away.

* * *

Clarke and Bellamy had always let her set their pace, so Raven has a rough idea of how much ground she can cover with her bum leg and streets choked with debris and abandoned cars. She isn’t prepared for how absolutely nuts she goes trying to watch her own back.

The silence has always been unnerving, but her own inability to move with any kind of stealth eats at her. The turned can’t move quietly either, the jagged breaths and uneven steps giving them away immediately. But resources are scarce and normal people have enough sense not to step on broken glass and mouth breathe, and a voice in Raven’s head is telling her that she’s being watched.

She sticks to open roads. She’s too slow in the woods, and it’s easier to break into the cars and scrounge for supplies. She can hotwire a car in 12 seconds flat, but the roads are still too damaged and full this close to towns. She wastes a solid three hours one day trying to jerry rig a motorcycle so that she can change gears with her brace. It would be so easy, but she can’t get her hands on the right parts, and the voice in her head is getting louder. She sleeps in cars at night, one hand on her gun, and the wires ready to go in a heartbeat.

The attack, when it happens, comes at the worst possible moment.

It had been a running joke, that worst way to go would be zombie bite mid-bathroom break. It had been easy to laugh at then, when she had half a dozen people to watch her back. Now, it’s the most nerve wracking parts of her day. It’s a hard balance to strike, literally in her case, and it requires both hands. Her gun hasn’t been more than two feet away from her in months. But it doesn’t matter. She hears the sickly rattle and crunching leaves, and she stands, trying to grab her gun and pull up her pants in one movement. But she misjudges her momentum and loses her footing. It’s on her quicker than she expected, and her gun is too fucking far away and it doesn’t fucking matter because all she can see is a half rotted face bearing down on her. She throws her arms up and it catches her jacket when it tries to bite down. She jerks her knee up, trying to push it off, but she has no leverage, and she just can’t believe this is how she’s going to go out. It’s let go of her jacket and snapping towards her neck, and Raven closes her eyes but the bite doesn’t come. The zombie’s pulled off of her and she automatically moves, trying to get to her feet and get her bearings. Its head rolls towards her, and she follows the blood trail to a man in a jacket, holding a machete and standing over the body with his back to her. He turns slightly, and she sees the jaw, and she knows with absolute certainty who it is.

“You fucking cockroach.”

Murphy turns to face her, and he doesn’t duck when she slams her fist into his face. She hears his nose break, and when he looks up at her, there’s blood covering his face. She braces herself, ready for fist, the taunt, whatever it is he thinks he can throw at her. But all he does is sheath the machete on his back and grabs her gun. Which she forgot about. She freezes, unsure if she should try to take it from him or take a step back. But he just grabs it and holds it out to her. She snatches it and immediately jams it under his chin. He doesn’t look surprised; he slides his hands into his pockets and stares her down. It makes her even angrier.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Saving your life?”

His voice is hoarse, like hers, but it still has that same nasal edge.

“Why are you following me?”

Her rifle is too long and isn’t meant to be jammed under anyone’s anything, but she compensates for the angle and steps closer to him. He sneers at her.

“Because all the other girls walk too fast.”

She yanks the gun away and socks him again, and this time she hits him square in the mouth. He leans over and spits the blood out.

“Are you done?”

She rams her right knee into his groin and walks away in answer.  

Murphy. How was this even possible. There was no god. Only hell. And she was living in it. 

 

 

* * *

She can’t decide what’s worse - having him walk behind her or walking behind him, and having to watch him slow down to match her speed. He knows it’s driving her crazy too.

“You know, in wolf packs, the wounded and the old set the pace. The strong walk behind and watch their backs.”

She rolls her eyes at his back.

“Wolves also don’t shoot each other in the spine.”

He stiffens, but he ignores her spite.

“So where are we going anyway?”

She has no idea really, but like hell is she going to tell him that.

“Where does it look like?”

He shrugs. “Looks like you don’t know where we’re going.”

“True. I don’t know where we’re going. But I know where I’m going.”

He’s stopped to look at her. “Where are you going Reyes?”

She stops too. “Away from the cities.” And away from you. She doesn’t say it, but he smirks like he knows what she’s thinking. He waves his hand out in front of her.

“After you.”

She glares at him but starts walking, and he moves at her pace. Technically, they’re side by side, but they both keep a healthy distance.

* * *

The first night is the worst. She breaks into a truck and gets ready to sleep with one eye open and her gun at the ready. Murphy eyes her and actually looks nervous. She tightens her grip.

“Is there a problem?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Just don’t shoot me by accident.”

She shifts the gun closer and leans against the window in an attempt to get comfortable.

“Murphy, I promise you--if I shoot you, it’ll be on purpose.”

He actually relaxes and nods, before throwing the seat back and immediately dropping off. Prick. She’s asleep soon after though, but it’s definitely not because the steady breathing of someone alive and near is oddly soothing. No, survival demanded firing on all cylinders, and exhaustion is a sure fire way to get killed. Still, his quiet snores don’t hurt.

* * *

He handles the straggling infected they run into. She watches his back, gun ready, but ammunition is harder to come by, and it’s loud. Murphy’s quick and doesn’t draw it out. A blow to the neck, take the head off, move on. Raven has seen more than a few who’d gone overboard. Frustration and anger taking over the desperate. Bloodlust and enjoyment taking over the sadistic. Two days ago, and she would have put him in the second category without a thought. But he just sidesteps the bodies, wipes his machete down, and carries on. He stares at a few for longer than usual and tilts his head at Raven before pointing to the body’s visible ribs.

“They’re dying out.”

“They’re starving. No one to eat out here. They’ve already infected everyone, so now they have to try to find a new food source.”

Murphy smiles at her, the kind of small, grim thing she’s used to seeing on Bellamy’s face.

“Or wait for it to come wandering by, ready for a bathroom break.”

It’s not the worst thing he could have said, but it’s still annoying. And embarrassing. So she ignores it.

“Well, at least we know the infection won’t last forever. A virus can’t survive without a host.”

The smile drops off his face. “Viruses mutate.”

They walk in silence after that.

They fall into a non-verbal routine. He clears the debris in front of her, and she refrains from killing him. She shares her small, but totally functional, water filter, and he conveniently wanders away to scout when she has to re-adjust her brace and stretch out her leg. They watch each other’s backs, and they never ever talk about anything that’s happened in the past six months. On the fourth day, she asks him again, “Why were you following me?”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“Because you’re a survivor. Out of everyone, I know you’ll make it. You always beat the odds.”

“And if I had stayed with Clarke and Bellamy?”

He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t have. You’re no martyr.”

It doesn’t sound like an insult; he says it matter-of-factly. And he’s not wrong. She doesn’t give a shit about the moral high ground, even when she has it, and she sure as hell isn't willing to die for it. Clarke and Finn, and even Bellamy once in awhile, would break out into self-righteous, if well-intentioned, speeches about grand gestures on behalf of humanity, and they always waited for her to chime in and join the troops. But all Raven ever had was C-4 and a stupid attachment to a stupid boy. It doesn’t sound like an insult, but it also doesn’t sound like the truth.

* * *

A week in, they find a motorcycle, and they have their first fight.

“No fucking way.”

“What is the problem here? It works. It has gas, and oh right, it’s a fucking motorcycle.”

“It’s not happening.”

Murphy drags his hands down his face, over the world’s patchiest, saddest beard.

“Reyes, I watched you spend three hours fucking around with a neon green crotch rocket. Why are we even having this conversation?”

“You know, reminding me about how you’ve been stalking me is not as persuasive as you seem to think it is.”

“How about common sense then? The longer we’re on the road, the quicker we run out of food. We’re easy pickings. We’re sleeping like shit. I know your hips are killing you, and look at this!” He points to his face. “Look at this shitty beard. I look homeless!”

“You are homeless.”

“That’s my fuckng point, Reyes. I don’t want to be, so quit your bitching, and get your ass on this bike.

She has to cling to him like a koala, but at least she’s closer to his knife. And really it doesn’t matter, because he drives like a maniac, and she spends most of her time making sure he doesn’t kill either of them with his shitty gear shifting.

“Give me a break, I’ve never been on a bike!”

“Yeah, that’s pretty obvious, asshole!”

They have to shout to be heard over the bike, but it feels good to be loud. To have someone to shout at. Someone who just rolls with it. Fighting with Finn always ended with tears from at least one of them. Clarke only yells at Bellamy, and Bellamy only yells at idiots doing idiotic things. Raven grew up in a house where screaming matches were normal, where slammed doors were punctuation, and you never said you were sorry til you meant it. She’d bet a box of ammunition that Murphy grew up the same. They can yell at each other all day, but it doesn’t mean anything. They’re both at their most hurtful with an inside voice that says ‘you’re not even worth me raising my voice’. They have a lot of shitty parts in common. And for a second, she’s almost grateful that he’s here. She squeezes her arms around his middle without thinking, and Murphy almost swerves into an overturned car.

“Reyes, are you hugging me?”

“I’m trying to stay on this deathcycle. You may have noticed--I only have three working limbs.

He laughs, and she only knows because she can feel his back shaking.

“Think of it this way, at least we get handicapped parking.”

She punches him in the shoulder blade, and he swears when the bike swerves again, but she doesn’t let go, and if he notices that she clings a little tighter, he keeps his comments to himself.

* * *

They leave the humidity of West Virginia behind. Somewhere on the backroads of Ohio, Raven decides they need to upgrade.

“Keep an eye out for a truck. Four door, large bed. Ideally with a front bumper guard.”

Murphy slants her a look over his shoulder, but the bike doesn’t waver.

“You want a special color too?”

“Dark blue.”

They end up with a gray dodge with disturbing bloodstains on the seats and a bent front bumper, but it works.

“Why are we taking the bike if we have the truck?” Murphy’s pissy, but she can’t blame him. It’s harder than it looks to get the bike loaded into the truck, and she kind of wants to leave it behind, but she digs in harder and answers Murphy for what feels like the thousandth time.

“Because cars break down. Because roads can be blocked. Because shit happens, Murphy, so shut up and lift with your knees dammit!”

They finally get the bike in, and they both lean against the truck, panting.

“You better hope we don’t have to unload that thing in an emergency. I don’t think those fuckers are going to politely wait for us to get our shit together.”

“If it comes to that, we’re going to drive it right off the truck.”

“What do I look like, Evel Knievil?”

“No, you look like shit. Let’s go.”

She drives, because like hell is she going to let Murphy take first crack, and at first he seems fine with that. But by the time she hits the open road, he’s hanging onto the grab handle and staring at her like she’s lost her damn mind. It’s been a long time since she’s been able to drive, and fuck it, it feels good. She doesn’t hit anything, avoids hitting any bodies. But as soon as the roads are clear, she floors it. They’ve got the A/C blasting, and Murphy actually lets out a moan that is just this side of obscene when he aims half the vents towards his face. HIs face which is red and peeling. Right, cause he’s a pasty motherfucker. She’s been tanning under the summer sun, but a couple days on the bike means he’s sunburned and red as a lobster. And scaly. The truck is a boat and burns through gas pretty quickly, so she stops at the first gas station she sees.

They go nuts. They load every gas container they can find, and loot the inside store like drunk teenagers. Raven grabs water and trail mix and all the first aid she can find. Murphy grabs toilet paper, beef jerky, and a handle of vodka. Seriously.

“Seriously?”

“Disinfectant. Molotov cocktails. Regular cocktails. It’s versatile.”

They take turns in the bathroom. Murphy wastes a bottle of water trying to shave. She wastes three trying to take a sponge bath in the sink. He knocks on the door, and she stands behind it and peers out at him. He’s flapping a pack of wet wipes at her.

“A clean ass is a healthy ass. How do you think the bubonic plague got started?”

She snatches the wipes and shuts the door in his face.

“Don’t forget to wash behind your ears!”

Jackass.

She ends up leaving the store carrying more tampons than she can count and runs into Murphy who’s stuffing a Garth Brooks cd into his jacket.

“Really?”

He shrugs. “Don’t make it weird, Reyes. You have a vag, I have questionable taste in music. Let’s move on.”

She’s taught him how to hotwire a car, and he’s getting better. Thirty seconds, give or take. She’s down to seven seconds, but who’s counting.

“I should have known that you were a car thief.”

She rolls her eyes and props her feet up on the dash. He’s a cautious driver, annoyingly so, but whatever.

“You telling me you’ve never boosted a car before this shit?”

He shrugs. “More of a shoplifter to be honest.”

Looking at him, clean shaven, hair that’s too long falling into his face, she has a pretty damn good idea of what kind of shit he pulled when he was younger.

“Were you ever in juvey?”

He snorts and drums his fingers on the wheel. “Weren’t we all?”

“No. Not if you were good enough not to get caught.”

“Are you bragging about being a criminal?”

“A good one, sure. Getting caught wasn’t an option. My mom would have flipped. I mean, were your parents thrilled you were a delinquent?”

“Super.”

He’s angry, but what else is new. “Did they visit you?”

Murphy looks at her like she’s an alien. An alien he wants to push out of his car.

“Christ, Reyes. Are we really going to exchange childhood stories?”

He doesn’t wait for her to say anything, just sneers. “I think I liked it better when you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

He presses play on Garth Brooks and doesn’t look at her.

It stings, and it shouldn’t, because this was Murphy. Shitty, angry, shoot-a-girl-in-the-back Murphy. Yeah, it was the end of the world, and technically they were all each other had, but that didn’t mean they were friends. He’s shitty, but he’s right, and she needs the reminder. She looks down at the atlas they’ve been using.

“You’re going to stay on this route for another 120 miles, and then you need to take 75W.”

“And then what?”

She shrugs and tosses the atlas into his lap. She tilts her seat back and slides a pair of stolen sunglasses over her eyes.

“Drive til you see corn.”

How did she get here? Pouting, no gun in her hand, Murphy at the wheel, and 90’s country blaring from the radio. Honestly, it’s like a fever dream she can’t wake up from. But if she closes her eyes tight enough, she can almost believe that she’s back in Finn’s shitty oldsmobile, and they’re on their way back from whatever stupid hiking trail he’d dragged her to. But then they slide into a curve, and her necklaces clink together, and she remembers that Finn is dead, and that the world turned out even shittier than she could imagine. And now she has to start over. She falls asleep because the alternative is to have a good pity cry in front of Murphy of all people, and that is not even remotely an option.

She wakes up covered in drool and pressed up against the door like an octopus. The car is parked, and Murphy’s poring over the atlas. They’re parked next to a field of corn, and for a minute, it’s all she can see. They made it. Now what? 

* * *

“What time is it?”

“Not sure. I think we moved into a new time zone. I’d guess around five.”

“Where are we?”

“Somewhere in Indiana. All these bullshit roads are unmarked.”

“Any infected?”

“Haven’t seen any for the past thirty minutes. Good sign.”

“Seen any survivors?”

“Haven’t seen any for the past two weeks. Mediocre sign.”

He’s right. Is it better or worse to be alone? Considering she’s let Murphy stay for the past couple of weeks, she doesn’t think she can answer that question.

“Where we goin, Reyes?”

It’s a damn good question.

* * *

 They decide against Indiana.

“Illinois?”

“Absolutely not. Chicago was a shithole before the infection. Can you imagine how it is now?”

“Wisconsin?”

“Too fucking cold.”

“The Dakotas are pretty empty.”

She can feel Murphy glaring at her from the passenger’s seat.

“I’m not living in the Dakotas.”

“No one lives there.”

“For a good reason. Too fucking cold, and a billion miles from civilization.”

She fights the urge to smack him.

“That’s exactly what we’re looking for. We’re not on a vacation, dipshit. We’re trying to get away from people. The further we are from civilization, the better.”

“We also need to grow food. We can’t live off beef jerky and peanut butter forever. Dakotas aren’t known for their thriving agriculture.”

He’s right, but he doesn’t have to be so goddamn smug about it.

“Not to mention that there are a lot of gun nuts and neo nazis up there. What are the odds they survived and banded together? Cockroaches don’t die out easy.”

“Yeah well, you’d know.”

Murphy glares at her again, but she gives in.

“Iowa?”

He doesn’t smile, but he’s glaring a little less. It’s a start.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

They end up in what is essentially a small town in Iowa, if you can call two blocks of half empty stores a town. The welcome sign is torn in half, but it boasts a population of 382. It’s perfect.

“Take the first gravel road you see.”

Murphy frowns at her but eases them onto the gravel. It doesn’t help. She can feel her teeth rattling in her head, and the cloud of dust that pops up behind them makes her nervous.

“Am I looking for anything in particular?”

“Farmhouse, the taller the better. Look for one with a well, and preferably some type of vegetable garden.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Any particular color?”

It takes her by surprise, but she can’t stop the words from falling out of her mouth, “Surprise me.”

Murphy smirks, and it’s almost a smile, and she quashes the urge to smile back. When did they start having inside jokes?

They pass a number of houses, and more than a few of them are burned down, and a majority of the crops are black and withered.

“They tried to burn the infection out.”

Fire could work, but it was slow, and almost impossible to control. You didn’t set a fire unless you had nothing to lose.

“Last resort. Scorched earth motherfucker.”

It’s a dick thing to say, and not surprising coming from Murphy, but when she looks at him, he looks as grim as she feels.

“So there’s nothing left.” Her voice cracks like she wants to cry, but mostly she wants to hit something. Murphy thankfully ignores it.

“Not necessarily. Nobody’s been here for a while. Crops are gone, but there’s a reason people burn and raze. Fire’s good for the soil. We’ll replant, get ready for next year.”

He isn’t saying anything groundbreaking; it was her plan from the beginning. But they haven’t talked about it, cause really what was there to talk about? He stalked her, she tolerated him, and one day they’d go their separate ways. And by separate ways, she meant either she’d kill him, or he would leave. Which should have happened like a week ago, but here they are, planning a goddamn year long future together like he didn’t shoot her in the back six months ago. She should kick him out here. He can have the bike and all the beef jerky. And she can just stay here, in a house that’s probably haunted, talking to herself and slowly going insane. She looks at him, and he’s staring out the window, pretending to be casual. But he knows what she’s thinking, and he’s waiting for her answer.

“You know that means beef jerky and peanut butter all winter right?”

“I guess I’ll have to sacrifice my girlish figure then.”

“If we run out of food, I’m not afraid of cannibalism.”

He quirks his mouth. “I’ll risk it.”

It’s not a promise not to murder each other, but it’s something.

* * *

 

They end up choosing a white house with a charred barn and half a field of corn. The inside smells like smoke and mothballs, but it’s empty. They check every floor and every room, and it feels insanely creepy. Whoever had lived there had left in a hurry, and every room looks like a bomb went off. She finds Murphy in the bathroom slathering his face in aloe.

“Really?”

“It itches.”

“You should have shaved first. Now you look like a homeless lizard.”

“You’re not looking so hot yourself, Reyes. The words ‘greasy raccoon’ come to mind.”

Rude but probably true. God, when was the last time she had even looked in a mirror? She checks out the dressers and closets for something to wear. Whoever had lived here was not her size and most definitely not under sixty. Scarecrow overalls or grandma mumu?

“Hey, Reyes! You feel like checking that well to see if the water’s good?”

He’s shouting at her from the bathroom so he doesn’t see her roll her eyes.

“Bottled water not good enough for you anymore?”

“No, but I figured you might want a bath.”

He’s standing in the doorway, wiping his hands on a paisley dishtowel. He still looks like shit, but he seems to be serious.

“Are you serious?”

“No, I just said it for laughs. Yeah, I’m fucking serious. You check it, make sure it won’t kill us. I’ll lug it in. It’ll take a minute, and I’m sure the temperature will be shit, but-” he shrugs and breaks off.

“Jesus. Are you trying to do something nice?”

His ears turn red, and he crosses his arms defensively. “It happens.”

Good god, he’s embarrassed. She’s seen him sniff his armpits and shit in the woods without flinching, but heaven forbid he do something decent.

“Wow. Are you going sweet on me, Murphy?”

He tosses the towel at her face.

“Don’t let it go to your head. You smell like ass.”

He stomps down the stairs, but his ears are still red, and Raven can’t help the snort she lets out.

He’s right. It takes forever to fill up the tub, and it takes her even longer to peel the brace off her leg and her filthy pants which are literally stiff with grime. But goddamn is it worth it. She locks the bathroom door--not to keep Murphy out, but for the novelty of it. She strips and wrinkles her nose at the scent of her own body odor which has admittedly gotten out of control. Murphy’s right; the temperature is shit--lukewarm at best, and she gets goosebumps immediately. But she doesn’t hesitate before submerging herself completely. She stays underwater for as long as she can, listening to her own heartbeat.

The soap is old school dial, bright yellow and so normal smelling that she wants to cry. She scrubs herself from head to foot until she can literally hear how squeaky clean she is. The water is gross enough that she doesn’t want to linger in the tub. It goes down the drain surprisingly quick, and then she tries to get out of the tub. Right. Bum leg. Ten minutes of scrambling and smacking the walls with her elbows, and she’s still no closer to getting out of the goddamn tub. There’s a soft knock on the door, and she wants to scream.

“Raven? Do you need help?”

“No!” She’s so fucking close to getting out, but it’s not going to happen. She sighs and braces herself.

“Yes.”

She snatches her towel from the sink counter and tries to cover herself. Murphy tries the handle.

“It’s locked.” And fuck. She hadn’t thought about how he was going to get in, but a couple seconds later and the door swings open. Right, she'd taught him how to pick locks. Murphy walks in, another towel held wide in front of him so he can't see. He moves towards the tub and smacks his knee into the toilet, but he doesn’t drop the towel. It’d be adorable if it was anyone else, but as it is, she’s freezing and tired, and really, who gives a shit anymore?

“Murphy, it’s fine. Honestly. Just get me out of this stupid tub.”

She’s getting ready to hold her towel with her teeth and reaching her arms out like a toddler, but Murphy just wraps the other towel around her and hauls her out by her waist. He sets her on her feet, and she has to grab his arms to stay steady. Between that and the death grip he has on her waist, they’re disturbingly close. She’s completely covered, and he’s very obviously trying not to look at her, but it’s the closest she’s been to someone since Finn, and the natural intimacy of it makes her head spin.

“You good?” Is it her imagination or is his voice kind of husky?

He’s not looking at her, but he must feel her nod, because he shuffles out of the room and shuts the door behind him.

“Don’t take all day, Reyes. I wanna bathe too.”

Just her imagination then.

She settles on an old flannel shirt she finds and an honest to god pair of long johns. Stupid looking, but clean. The flannel is soft and smells like cedar and laundry detergent, and she gives into the urge to bury her face into the too long sleeves. It doesn’t smell like her home. Her home always smelled like car oil, and Finn’s overpriced shampoo, and the smoky scent of the virgen de guadalupe candles her grandmother sent her every year like clockwork. It doesn’t smell like her home, but it still smells like a home, and that was going to have to be enough.

The sleeping situation should be awkward, but they breeze right through it.

“You’ll take the master, and I’ll take the twin downstairs,” Murphy says with entirely too much authority.

“And what happens if I need to get downstairs, you gonna carry me?”

“Piggyback or bridal style, cripple’s choice.”

“You’re such a dick, Murphy.”

“Get some sleep, Reyes.”

The sheets are musty, and there’s a lingering scent that is most likely bengay, but the pillows are down, and it’s a motherfucking bed. She keeps a utility knife she bummed off Murphy under her pillow, and the gun is propped up against the nightstand. She hears Murphy checking all the windows and doors, and it’s reassuring enough that she’s out like a light before she can finish worrying about someone, dead or alive, sneaking into the house.

* * *

 

They decide to do an inventory check first and foremost. 

“Water?”

“Shit ton. And the well’s good to go.”

“Food?”

“Gas station rations are just about out, but I checked out the kitchen, the pantry, and the cellar, which by the way who even has a fucking cellar, and the fridge is a fucking biohazard, but they’ve got a lot of canned goods.”

“Okay first of all, we’re in the Midwest; everyone has a cellar. Tornados, dumbass. Second of all, why would you even open the fridge? Power’s been out for almost a year. You probably shouldn’t even touch anything in there, let alone eat it—“

Murphy shrugs. “Ketchup might still be good.”

“Third of all, what kind of canned goods? We talking pickles and yams or grandma’s preserves? Cause we can’t live off jelly.”

“It’s a mix. They’ve also got like ten million bags of beans and cans of veggies in the pantry. Should last us a good while. Long enough for us to figure our shit out.”

Raven nods. “Okay, so we’ll grab any food we can find, but it’s not a top priority.”

“What is our top priority then?”

“Electricity? We need a generator to start with, and I need to get my hands on some decent wire, and every power tool we can find.”

Murphy looks genuinely curious, and it’s a nice change from his normal sneer. 

“What are you trying to build, Reyes?”

Anything and everything she can to be honest. 

“I want to build a power cell. Generators don’t last forever. We need some kind of renewable energy.”

“No offense, but I really don’t think the local Wal-Mart is going to have any solar panels.”

“No, but it’s Iowa. They’ve got like a million wind turbines around here.”

Now he just looks skeptical which is somehow worse than the sneer.

“You mean the giant wind mill things?”

“Yes, Murphy. The giant wind mill things. We need one.”

“You wanna dismantle and build one here? I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

“Watch me.”

* * *

 

She’ll say this for midwestern farmers—they know their fucking power tools. They start scavenging through the neighboring farms, and they never come up empty handed. She focuses on the mechanical, and Murphy loads up on supplies. It works surprisingly well. He doesn’t know what she’s looking for so he can’t really help, but he also doesn’t say shit when she grabs something that looks like it may have potential to one day be useful. They find a wheelbarrow and a small wagon, but the real win is the four wheeler they stumble across. She attaches a large crate and doesn’t hesitate to load it up with copper wire and odds and ends. Murphy loads it up with books of all things. 

It’s slim pickings to be honest. Mostly just westerns, harlequins, and bibles that they both gloss over. It takes her a couple of trips to realize that he’s also grabbing books for her. Technical manuals: How to Operate a Class Lexion 570 Harvester, Maintenance for the Deere ZTrak Z945M Tractor, and—

“Knitting for Beginners?”

Murphy doesn’t even flinch.

“There’s no tv and no radio. Gotta fill the hours with something. I also picked up ‘Basic Woodworking’ and ‘Fifty Fifteen Minute Meals’. It’s all about variety, Reyes.”

She has to hang on to the dash as he skirts around a pothole. 

“I just didn’t know you were big on reading, that’s all.”

“That’s just insulting, Reyes. I can read and shit.”

She holds her hands up in surrender but smirks at him anyways. 

They fall into a routine that works surprisingly well until it doesn’t. They find a farmhouse ten miles away; it’s intact, and the garden looks promising. But as soon as they open the door, Raven knows something’s just fucking wrong. The smell almost knocks her over. Murphy’s got a kerchief pulled up over his mouth, but he still throws a hand up.

“Infected?”

Murphy shakes his head. “Not a chance.”

They check the downstairs which looks like a disaster, but it’s the upstairs that looks like a goddamn nightmare. Three bedrooms and four corpses. Each one has a bullet in the head, and the two in the master are holding hands. It’s hard to tell how long they’ve been here, but it’s easy to tell that the two kids can’t be older than ten. Murphy holds up a half empty bottle of Valium and shakes it at her, but all she can do is glance at him before she has to get out of the house. She bursts out the front door and doesn’t stop until she hits the wall of the barn. She lets go. She starts kicking at it and watches the wood splinter and fly off with a kind of detached satisfaction. She doesn’t want to cry; she wants to tear this stupid farm apart. She feels more than hears Murphy come up behind her, but he doesn’t say anything. He just watches her kick the shit out of the barn until she’s panting and too fucking tired to keep going. She leans her arms and her head against the wall.

“They gave up.”

“It happens. Not everyone’s a survivor, Reyes.”

“They didn’t even try!” Her voice cracks, and she turns to face him. His face is blank, and he shrugs.

“They wanted a way out; they found one, and they took it.”

“Are you seriously saying this doesn’t bother you?”

For the first time in a while, she feels disgusted by him.

“I’m saying it doesn’t matter; it’s done.”

“They killed their own kids, Murphy.”

“Maybe they thought it’d be easier to do it now instead of later; maybe they thought it would be kinder; maybe they were just cowards. Does it really matter?”

Maybe not in the grand scheme of things. But for her, right now, it does matter.

“It’s done, Raven. Let it go.”

He’s not cruel about it, but he sounds resigned. For the first time, she wonders what kind of horrible shit he saw after the first settlement broke down. After he shot her and got chased out to survive on his own. He meets her eyes and waits for her.

“We have what we need; we don’t need anything from here.”

Murphy nods like he’s expecting that. They start walking to the truck, and neither of them look back at the house. But she can’t help it. 

“Dominus vobiscum.”

“Et cum spiritu tuo.”

Raven stops short and stares at Murphy’s back, shocked. He senses that she’s stopped walking and throws her a look over his shoulder.

“Irish Catholic. Don’t look so shocked, Reyes. Even assholes need somewhere to be on Sundays.”

* * *

 

They hold off on scavenging after that and focus on the house.

“Are we going full fortress of solitude or sticking with the little house on the prairie vibe?”

“Little bit of both. If we build a fort, it’s going to draw a lot of attention, but don’t want to be defenseless either. If it looks abandoned, hopefully people will just pass it by.”

“You really think people are gonna start wandering around the midwest looking for people like us?”

“I think the people left are pretty damn decent at surviving. If you find resources, you take them.

“Finders, keepers. Fucking thieves.”

“You say that like you wouldn’t do the exact same thing. You’ve seen what the world’s turned into. Infected or clean, the body wants to survive.”

They start working on the gardens. Neither of them feels ready to try a combine or a tractor, but raised beds are easy to replicate. She draws up the plans, and Murphy hauls in the dirt.

“Save me some fertilizer, Murphy. I’m running low on C-4.”

He grumbles about it, but she finds a half dozen bags in the barn that’s turned into her workshop. She lets him pick the plants and seeds, because she honestly doesn’t give a shit. And also because, surprisingly enough, she actually trusts him to think it through, because he’s a dick, but he’s not an idiot. But she’s almost pleasantly surprised by what he’s picked when he drags her outside to help him plant.

“First bed is going to be tomatoes and eggplants. Second bed is cucumbers, squash, and zucchini. Third bed is onions; they take the longest. Fourth bed is potatoes and parsnips. Maybe some turnips. Fifth bed will be lettuce and cabbage. Maybe some spinach, cause you know, ruffage or whatever.”

“What about the other four beds around these?”

It’s an innocent question, but Murphy honest to God blushes, and she stares at him like he’s a mirage that’s about to disappear. He mumbles something.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch that.”

“They’re for flowers, asshole,” he snaps and shoves his hands into the pockets of his ratty jeans that he stole from the bedroom of the one rebellious teenager in the entire town. She’d mocked him for three days straight about being the same size as a highschooler.

“Cone flowers, goldenrods, basically just a bunch of wildflowers. And some sunflowers,” he adds. He’s less embarrassed now and staring at the beds like he’s picturing what they’ll look like next year.

“Why?” She’s curious enough that she ignores the urge to tease him.

“They’re good for bees. Bees are good for everything else. Get enough bees, and we can start harvesting honey. Plus, they look nice.”

“The bees or the flowers?”

He glares at her, and she can’t stop the smile blooming on her face.

“Murphy, you complete sap. Are you getting sentimental on me?”

He crosses his arms and sneers at her, but he’s blushing again.

“I swear to God, Reyes, you’re going to be eating nothing but cabbage and beets for the next six months.”

He stalks off, and it takes everything Raven has not to laugh at him. Still, her face actually hurts from smiling so wide, and she feels the burn of the stretched muscles the rest of the day.

They only use the generator early in the morning to charge the tools she needs. Murphy ends up trying to figure out how to make the necessities easier to use. Somehow that translates into showing up with a claw foot tub in the back of the truck.

“What and why?”

“The what is a tub, and the why is because we bathe.”

“We already have a tub.”

“Yeah, up a flight of stairs, and like a million miles away from the well.:

“So, this is your solution? Being buck-ass naked in the middle of the day, outside?”

“Yeah, pretty much. We already have to shit outside in a fucking outhouse; this is not the end of the world. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, Reyes, and I’m sure that goes both ways.”

“Ignoring the fact that under no circumstances do I want to see your naked anything, what the fuck are we supposed to do when it’s winter time? Because you’ve got more to lose to frostbite than I do.”

Murphy doesn’t even flinch at the idea of his dick freezing and rotting off.

“Reyes, if you haven’t figured out how to run water into this dumb by winter, I’m kicking your ass out of here.”

She wants to argue that he can’t kick her out of their house, but the realization that she even thinks of it as their house floors her. 

They limit their baths to once or twice a week, and they haven’t managed to see each other naked yet, so technically it’s a success.

She’ll never admit it, but there’s something oddly freeing about soaking in a tub under the hot summer sun, laying out on a towel on the ground, and just drying in the heat. It’s been a long ass time since her biggest concern was just mosquitos. She still brings her gun and her knife though, cause she may be relaxed, but she’s not stupid.

She splits her days pretty evenly. She divides her workshop time between trying to devise a plan for a power cell, and trying to decide if they should use a pump or makeshift water tower for the indoor plumbing. Neither one’s going well, so she starts working on building a perimeter. Murphy shows her the basic outskirts.

“I think we should leave the corn as is. It’ll look odd if it looks freshly harvested or chopped down. Gives us a bit of cover. Obviously it’s flat enough for us to see anyone who’s approaching from any side, but-”

“Only if we’re looking at the right time," she finishes for him.

“Exactly.”

It’s a problem that’s been nagging her for weeks now. They go to bed when the sun sets and get up when it rises. The days are long so they haven’t needed to break out the candles or flashlights more than a few times, but summer won’t last forever, and with no central heat, they’ll depend on fire. She wanted to be in the Midwest cause she could see anyone coming; she forgot that meant that everyone could see where she was too. She starts to think out loud. Murphy is a surprisingly good sounding board. Finn never had the attention span for the building process--only whatever cool shit that was built at the end. And Clarke was too busy thinking through her own shit to listen to Raven’s.

“Basically we need motion sensors that aren’t electronic and don’t tell the person that they’ve triggered something. Something that lets us know that someone’s coming and where they’re coming from.”

“True. It doesn’t help if we don’t know where to look.”

Murphy stops walking and stares at the corn for a minute.

“Do you remember that game with the mouse trap? Like the whole point was to build this stupid elaborate trap so that the mouse got caught in the little cage thingy?”

“Yeah, it’s literally called MouseTrap. What’s your point? You want to trap trespassers in a cage? That’s a bit extreme, even for you Murphy.”

He sighs and shakes his head, impatient.

“No, but I am thinking of the beginning of the game or like the part where the trap is built right? There’s like a switch that sets it all off. The little silver ball thingy.”

For a surreal moment, she’s picturing Murphy in juvey trying to convince his fellow criminals into playing the world’s stupidest game, but she picks up where he’s going.    

“You want a trigger with a chain reaction.”

“Yeah. What’s those things that they use to set-off bombs and shit in movies?”

“Tripwire?”

He snaps his fingers. “Yeah, tripwire. But you know, without the boom.”

She frowns, trying to think of logistics. It’ll take some work.

“Not a bad idea, Murphy. It’ll be a little complicated, but it’s got potential.”

His mouth quirks in a way she thinks is supposed to be a smile. It looks a little foreign on his face, but the enthusiasm is there and a little contagious. She smiles back.

* * *

 

“I need more books.”

“It’s not going to kill you to read a few harlequins. I promise, you’ll still be a man.”

“First of all, I’ve already read all of those. They’re pretty formulaic, so you burn through them pretty quick. Second of all, I need a couple of how to books. I think we should look at canning, and I need some more woodworking guides. I want to build a better outhouse.”

Ugh. The outhouse. It’s one of those things they just don’t talk about. They took the door off, so whoever was in there could see or hear anyone sneaking up on them. But it’s still the most unpleasant part of the day.

“I mean we can try some of those farms south of the town, I guess. No promises though.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I wanted to find their library.”

“Do they even have a library? It’s a pretty small town-”

“They do,” he interrupts. “They had a re-dedication ceremony there to celebrate its seventy-fifth anniversary.”

“How in the actual hell can you possibly know that?”

He tosses a newspaper down in front of her. 

“It was in the newspaper. The elderly fucking love newspapers.”

“I - okay. I guess we’re going to the library.”

And that’s how she gets roped into raiding not only the public library, which is surprisingly well stocked and has more books than the town had people, but also the library in the local school. The library is in fairly good shape, but the school is the creepiest goddamn place she’s ever been. The windows are completely shattered, the desks are piled up in failed barricades, and every surface is smeared with blood. Like most small towns, the schools runs from kindergarten to twelfth grade, so half of the handprints are very obviously child sized. It’s nightmare inducing, and they don’t linger. She grabs a few of her childhood favorites and sees Murphy do the same, and then they leave.

They end up with an obscene number of books, literally wheelbarrows full, and it’s time to figure out what to do with the owner’s stuff. They had already figured out that they were squatting in the home of Edmund and Judith Todd, and it felt shitty to start throwing their stuff out, but they need the space.

“Some of this we can use, but most of it we need to pack up.”

“And then what, burn it?”

“I’m not burning their shit. That’s just rude.”

“Well, it’s not like we can have a garage sale.”

“Then let’s just drop it off at any of the other houses.”

“You know that’s twice the amount of work, right?”

“I don’t care; we’re not burning it.”

Three hours into moving, and Raven is absolutely regretting the decision to try to be respectful to the dead. Who knows, maybe Ed and Judy made it out alive, maybe they were serial killers, maybe there was no room for sentiment and respect in a world where people were literally eating each other’s faces off.

They unpack in silence, because bitching and fighting takes too much energy. Murphy takes his shirt off halfway through, and Raven does the same soon after. She throws a bottle of sunscreen at him, and he slathers it on without hesitation. He doesn’t make a single comment about the leopard print sports bra she snatched from the tackiest closet in the town. They’re eating a lot better now, but they’re both too thin, just this side of scrawny. He doesn’t comment on her ribs poking through and she doesn’t mention the scars that cover him, or the fact that more than a few are faded and old and definitely happened before the world went to shit. On the ride back though, he does mention her tattoo.

“What kind of flower is that?”

The windows are down, so it’s hard to hear him. He gestures to her shoulder.

“Calla lily. For my grandmother.”

“Old school Catholic, right? Bet she wasn’t too happy about it.”

“She would have killed me. That’s why I waited til she was dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

She drapes her arm out the window but turns to look at him.

“Don’t be. She didn’t have to live through this shit. She got off lucky.”

He meets her eyes. “You’re not wrong, Reyes.”

* * *

 

They get comfortable and oddly domestic, until one night when Raven wakes up to Murphy putting his hand over her mouth and gestures for her to be quiet. She stops struggling but keeps her hand on her knife. She glares at him, but then she hears it. There’s an insistent scratching at the front door, and she moves to get up. Murphy’s waiting with a pair of pants, and he practically shoves her into them. By the time she’s done buttoning them up, he’s got her brace open and ready for her. All told, she’s ready to go in thirty seconds flat, and she grabs her gun. She’s right behind him as they slip down the stairs. He helps her over the two that creak and slides his machete out as she positions herself behind the couch, gun loaded and ready. She nods to let him know that she’s ready. He throws the door open.

It’s a dog. A fucking dog. Actually, it’s the world’s saddest looking pitbull. But still, it’s a fucking dog.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Raven lowers her gun, and throws herself down into the armchair. Murphy is actually on the floor, checking the dog for injuries. Oh god.

“Murphy.”

“I think he’s okay. Just hungry.”

“Murphy.”

“He needs a bath, obviously. Get him some flea and tick from that vet’s office we passed.”

“Murphy. We’re not keeping the dog.”

“He’s got nowhere to go.”

He’s already leading the dog into the kitchen, and she can hear him filling up a bowl with water.

“Murphy! We are not keeping the dog.”

* * *

 

They keep the dog. Murphy calls him Knievel as a joke.

It sticks.


	3. Chapter 3

They figure out the tripwire eventually. It takes the better part of a week to carefully wind it around the perimeter and through the corn. It takes twice that to make sure it’s not visible but still high enough to actually do its job. It’s rigged to break if someone crosses it, and it’ll snap back to the house to trigger one of the bells inside the house, depending on where it’s been broken. Thankfully, Knievel seems to know where not to step. Raven ends up with about a thousand cuts from wandering around in the corn for a week.

“How come no one ever tells you how fucking sharp those things are?

“It’d hurt the corn maze industry.”

“Wow, that’d be tragic. Give me the neosporin.”

* * *

By the time fall starts, she figures out how to get town’s water tower working again.

“What do you mean it was just out of water? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever fucking heard. How is that even possible?”

“They probably ran the water out when they were trying to put out all these damn fires. There’s a pump that refills it every day, but it needs electricity to work. Power’s been out too long. I’ll jerry rig some generators to try to fill it up again; we won’t need to pump that often since it’s just us-”

“And Knievel.”

She ignores him. “I don’t know what kind of water quality we’re looking at, but at the very least, we’ll be able to use the toilets again.”

“Thank God. Is that really all it takes?”

“Pretty much. Water towers depend on the pumps and gravity. Everything rolls down hill.”

“We’re in Iowa; there are no hills.”

“You know what I mean, asshole.”

“Temperature?”

“Still cold as shit. But you heat up a little in a kettle a couple times, dump it in the tub, and the rest will warm up.”

“Okay, Reyes. I guess you can stay then.”

“Thanks. That means the world to me.”

* * *

She can’t decide what’s weirder - watching Murphy chop wood in flannel like an actual lumberjack or watching Murphy knit scarves, hats, and mittens. He’s alarmingly good at both. They actually have to do more scavenging for yarn of all things, and he actually bullies her into grabbing winter clothes. Actually grabbing isn’t strong enough. Hoarding is better.

“Jesus, you’re worse than my mother.”

Murphy just keeps piling sweaters and coats and moth eaten blankets into the truck, and then tosses a pair of duck boots, that are kind of sort of her size, at her head. He’s stuffing socks into trash bags like a lunatic when she finally manages to push him into the truck.

“We need to talk about your hoarding problem. It’s Iowa for fuck’s sake. How cold can it get?”

She is brutally unprepared for how goddamn cold Iowa apparently gets. It’s not the temperature; she could handle a low temperature. It’s the constant, freezing wind. Going outside is soon completely out of the question. Her nose is always running, and she doesn’t even complain when Murphy shoves one of his lumpy, knitter hats down over her head.

“My jaw hurts. How does that even happen?”

She immediately regrets saying it and waits for whatever terrible blowjob joke is about to fall out of his mouth, but all Murphy does is start to wind a scarf around her neck.

“The wax in your inner ear is hardening from the cold, and that puts pressure on your jaw. Keep your ears warm, and that should stop happening.”

Murphy winds what looks like a sixth scarf around his own neck, and his nose is bright red. He moves to the couch where he ends up spending like 90% of his time.

“Remember when you wanted to go to the Dakotas?”

His teeth are chattering, so he doesn’t sound as smug as he normally would, but he’s right. Her ass absolutely would have frozen and died out there. Not for the first time, she’s glad he’s stuck around. She doesn’t even say anything when he tries to knit Knievel his own sweater. It’s the ugliest thing she’s ever seen, but he seems to enjoy wearing it, so whatever.

They focus on gathering firewood and making sure their stockpile of food and cold medicine is up to snuff.   
“You know if we run out of wood, we could always start burning some of these harlequins.”

She reaches for one, joking, but Murphy smacks her hand.

“Don’t even think about it.”

They cover the windows at night with blankets and keep the fire going. It helps, but Raven can still feel her hips starting to twinge and ache. She starts moving slower, and she has to lean against the wall to make it up and down the stairs. It doesn’t take long for Murphy to corner her.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or am I going to have to annoy it out of you?”

She grits her teeth, but gives in because he is absolutely capable of annoying it out of her since she has nowhere to run and hide.

“It’s arthritis, jackass. The cold makes it hard to move.”

Murphy’s face does something complicated, and oh god, she can tell he’s going to do something terrible and uncomfortable like try to apologize. But he just shakes his head at her.

“Reyes, you old hag.”

He tsks at her and moves away, but he throws a bottle of aspirin at her without looking.

* * *

That should be the end of it, but when she comes back from the workshop (where she’d been trying to add a hand crank to a space heater without turning it into a deathtrap) she finds that Murphy has dragged her mattress downstairs and put it in front of the fireplace. He’s sprawled out on the couch, snacking on _her_ banana chips and reading some book with a giant ‘Oprah’s Book Club!’ sticker plastered on the front.

“Murphy. Why is my bed on the living room floor?”

“I told you that Knievel needed a new bed.”

“Okay, for the last time, furniture is for people. It’s bad enough that you let him up on the couch. He is absolutely not sleeping in my bed.”

Murphy shrugs. “Your loss. He puts off heat like a toaster oven.”

Knievel gives her a look from where he’s curled up on Murphy’s feet.

“Yeah, but then who’s going to save your skinny ass from freezing to death?”

Murphy puts the book down and looks at her.

“You’re right. We need another dog.”

“Don’t even think about it!”

She does end up staying downstairs, and somehow Murphy ends up just moving to the couch full time.

He’s right though; Knievel is warm as hell.

* * *

The days get shorter, and it gets dark quick out in the country: no street lamps and no light pollution. They take turns running Knievel out, and even though it’s beyond miserable outside, Raven still gets a kick at seeing the night sky without the screaming and gunshots that made sleeping in the settlement impossible. She wonders sometimes if Murphy feels the same way, and for the first time she brings up the camp.

“Do you ever miss it? The Ark?”

She’s wrapped herself up in a blanket cocoon and watching him read by the light of one of those old fashioned oil lamps. Murphy grimaces and side eyes her.

“We’ve got a long stretch ahead of us being trapped in here. You sure you wanna open this can of worms now?”

She nods. He sighs and sets his book down. He leans back and stares at the ceiling.

“Yes. The way it was in the beginning. When we were all on the same side.”

She snorts. “When were you ever on our side?”

“When it was us versus them. Alive versus infected. That was enough for me. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t a dick though.”

He turns and looks at her.

“Do you miss it?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “No.”

He looks surprised.

“I hated it. I hated waiting for the infection to break through. I hated everyone trying to convince each other that what they were doing was right. People were dying just to prove a fucking point. They turned on each other for no reason.”

“Yeah, exactly. I could have stayed and watched them tear each other apart, but I thought I had better odds with the infected. Besides, they talk less.”

He’s not wrong. She knew then what she knows now about him; no matter what happened, he would find a way to survive. She can see how in the beginning, when they all thought it was just an epidemic that would pass, that his attitude would earn him a lot of enemies. Two years ago, when the world was shitty, but normal, and she was going for her masters, if she had met him, she’d call him a parasite and stay as far from him as possible. Even one year ago, she avoided him like the plague and joined in on any dogpile that knocked him down a few pegs. But now, here she was curled up in a blanket, snuggling _their_ dog, and asking him about his fucking feelings.

“Why did you stay?”

He’s watching her watch him.

“Why did you let me?”

“I didn’t want to die alone.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, but it’s true.

He nods. “Yeah.”

She’s the first to look away, burying her face into Knievel’s fur. She doesn’t know how long Murphy watches her, but the next time she looks up, he’s turned with his back to her.

She doesn’t take it personally.

* * *

Normally, she drops off as soon as she closes her eyes, but tonight she can’t stop thinking about the camp.

She’d been at MIT, cramming for midterms when they heard about JFK. It had been shut down, and the national guard was swarming it. Everyone thought it was another terror attack.

It was worse.

The news had shown streets packed with traffic, everyone trying to escape the path of a bomb that never came. They were sitting ducks, and the infection spread like wildfire. Everyone watching the news thought it was a prank until they saw the reporter torn apart on live news and the cameraman right after her. All the cameras were on helicopters after that. But soon the footage just stopped coming in. Raven had assumed that there was some kind of power outage. She knows now that that was when the soldiers started gunning people down.

Finn had hauled ass from Boston to Cambridge, and they were trying to decide what to do and where to go when someone made the decision for them. The bridges connecting the cities were blown up, and bombs started going off towards the north. There was no where to go. Quarantine stops popped up in Arlington to stop people from getting into Cambridge, so it seemed like a good enough reason to stay put. Between the universities, they had a population where the average age was somewhere between eighteen and twenty-six. Co-eds running wild. But between the poli sci assholes and the science whiz kids, they actually started to get their shit together. For a while at least. They took it one day at a time and hoped for the best. They didn’t make plans long term, because this couldn’t last forever, right?

Raven pulls of her necklace and Clarke’s. She watches them glint in the dying firelight.

Right.


	4. Chapter 4

That conversation opens the floodgates.

“Parents?”

“Probably dead. Dad fucked off before I was born. Mom never made it out of New York. Yours?”

“Definitely dead. Pops got killed by some crackhead in a corner store. Mom drank herself to death a few years later.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She blamed me for his death. Made living with her pretty unbearable.”

“Did you pay the junkie to kill your dad?”

“No. But it was my fault he was there. I had a cold; I wanted that stupid throat spray. Wanted, not needed. Mom never let me forget it.”

“You know that’s insane, right?”

“Doesn’t matter. It is what it is.”

* * *

 

He teaches her how to play chess. 

“I don’t understand how you’re so bad at this. You’re a math whiz. You were at MIT for fuck’s sake. You’re supposed to be a genius.”

She tosses a pawn at him that he dodges. 

“I  _ am _ a genius, dickwad. But chess is just a series of memorized strategies created by other people. Like a Rubik’s cube.”

Murphy’s jaw drops. 

“There are so many things wrong about everything you just said. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Then don’t. And go grab that pawn; Knievel’s about to choke on it.”

They take turns cranking the space heater.

“What were you going to do with engineering?”

“Con my way into NASA. I wanted to go to space.”

“Is that what you wanted to be when you were little?”

“That or a princess.”

“Why not both? Actual space princess Raven Reyes.”

“Were you in school?”

“Part time. Geology.”

“Really? You wanted to be a geologist?”

“Archaeologist. Indiana Jones was very formative for me.”

“Only part time?”

“Broke white trash, Reyes. And it’s not like they have thousands of dollars for geology majors.”

“True. I had to take a geology class for an earth science requirement. Not my idea of a good time to be honest.”

He shrugs. “I think it’s interesting. There’s so much more going on under the ground than we think about. More than we’ll ever know.”

Raven nods. “Same with space. By the time we even reach another life form, or they reach us, there’ll be nothing left here.”

“Exactly. The earth is so old. We’re just a blip in her history.”

“Do you think this is it for us as a species?”

“Honestly? I’m surprised we lasted this long.”

* * *

 

“Do you want to look for other survivors?”

It’s Thanksgiving, give or take a week, and they split a can of cranberry sauce over the world’s shittiest instant mashed potatoes. Raven thinks about it. 

“Not really. Not yet. It takes a lot to keep a group together, to keep them under control. It takes the right person to run shit, and I am not that person. I’m not Clarke.”

“Thank god for that.”

She cuts another wedge out of the cranberry jelly roll thing. 

“She’s not that bad. I mean, she can get pretty preachy, and like stupidly idealistic. But well intentioned I think. We can’t all be jaded assholes.”

Murphy gives Knievel a scoop of mashed potatoes. 

“Speak for yourself. That perfect princess shit doesn’t fly with me. She just gets Blake to do her dirty work.”

“I didn’t say she was perfect.” She can’t help but snap at him, picturing Finn’s body on the ground. “I just said that she’s well intentioned.”

He’s not fazed. “She killed your boyfriend.”

“Ex,” she corrects. 

“Does that make it better?”

“No.”

“She shot him.”

“And saved me. I wouldn’t have been able to kill him. Not then. And you don’t get to judge her on that. You shot me-”

“And saved your life.”

“Are you saying that means we’re even?”

“No. If I hadn’t shot you, you wouldn’t have needed saving.”

“Yeah. I’m aware.”

It’s a sore topic, and it’s worth braving the cold for Raven to get out of the house and start barricading herself in her workshop. Anything to get away from him. 

* * *

 

Murphy starts following her into the goddamn shop. He makes up for it by bringing the space heater and cranking it while she’s working. 

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“Are you serious?”

“Fine. What’s your favorite band?”

Raven sets down the soldering iron she’s using and pushes her goggles up her face. 

“Are you trying to play twenty questions with me? That doesn’t seem a little pointless to you?”

Murphy rolls his eyes. 

“You’re right. Let’s stay current. Raven, now that at least half of the Earth’s population has been turned into a bunch of cannibalistic monsters, what kind of political climate do you think is being developed amoung the remaining survivors?”

She jams the goggles back down. 

“My favorite movie is Aliens.”

And so it starts. 

“Favorite candy?”

“Red vines. Favorite drink?”

“Guinness.”

“To the surprise of no one.”

“Favorite holiday?”

“Fourth of July.”

“Of course. I forgot that you’re a little pyro.”

She teaches him how to play poker, and he teaches her gin rummy. They’re both good at counting cards, so they keep it interesting.

“Dream vacation?”

“Hawaii.”

“You get sunburn if you even think about the sun for too long. Why would you want to go to the beach?”

“I’m not going for the beaches. I’m there for the volcanos. Would you rather meet an alien or a ghost?”

“Alien. It’s less likely to be a dead relative trying to guilt me into going back to confession. Favorite sport?”

“Hocket. Obviously. Now stop shuffling the cards and deal.”

They start betting on the games. Loser has to do a dramatic reading from a Harlequin. 

Murphy loses by a point, and Raven falls off the couch laughing at him.

* * *

The air changes a bit, and they know snow is on the horizon. They get a snow shovel and a couple more space heaters.

It somehow feels less cold once the snow is on the ground, and Raven finds herself lingering outside when the sun goes down. Murphy notices and joins her. He stands beside her and stares up at the night sky. 

“I forgot what it’s like, the first night it snows. No animals, no cars honking, or people running around. It’s like everyone knows they need to just shut up and enjoy it. The morning after is just fucking terrible; everyone’s bitching about driving in and how some snow plow scratched their car, and the snow is just brown slush. But the night before? It’s just quiet. Clean. Perfect.” She’s horrified to realize that she's getting choked up and tries to cover it up with a cough.

“That may be the most Catholic thing you’ve ever said, Reyes.”

She should be annoyed, but before she can turn to look at him, he grabs her hand. She came outside without gloves because she’s an idiot, so her skin is pressed against the scratchy wool of his gloves. He’s cupped her hand like a little kid, ready to drop it second she pushes him away. But she doesn’t; she laces their fingers together, and shockingly, neither of them says anything to ruin the moment. It’s not romantic or at least, she hopes to God it isn’t meant that way, but still, it’s nice to be alive and with someone who’s willing to hold her hand when she needs it. 

He doesn’t ever bring up the fact that she was crying, but he does toss a pair of gloves at her every time she even looks at a door.

* * *

It’s not that they have an official ‘no touching’ rule per say; it’s just honestly never come up. That is until her dumbass skimps on her potassium pills and gets the worst Charlie horse of her life in the middle of the night. Murphy pops up as soon as she cries out and fumbles to light the oil lamp.

“Jesus, what’s wrong? Are you stroking out?”

He tries to move closer and trips over Knievel, who’s trying to lick her face. If she could stand up, she’d be able to stretch out her leg, but as it is, all she can do is clutch her calf and whimper. It’d be embarrassing as hell if she could care about anything other than her leg. 

“Charlie horse,” she grits out, and she tries not to smack him when he rolls his eyes and sighs. 

“I told you you needed more potassium.”

“Well some asshole ate all of my fucking banana chips.”

He kneels down in front of her and glares at her. 

“I can’t believe you’d call Knievel an asshole.”

She’s got an insult on the tip of her tongue, but she’s distracted when Murphy grabs her leg. He pulls her leg out flat and then pushes up until she bends her knee. Then he starts rubbing her calf in long, downward strokes that hurt until they don’t. Her muscles relax, and Murphy stretches her leg up until her knee is next to his face. He looks at her for the first time, up through his hair, and Raven can feel her heart pounding. Unconsciously she lets her leg drop so her knee is almost hooked over his shoulder, and his hand automatically shifts down her thigh. And then they both seem to realize that nothing has definitely just turned into something, and Murphy gently drops her leg back down. He gets up and wanders into the kitchen, and hopefully he doesn’t hear the shaky breath she lets out. Murphy comes back with a bottle of water and one of the giant potassium pills; he hands them to her. 

“You’ve only got one working leg, Reyes. Try not to fuck it up.”

It’s one of a million rude things he’s said, but she’s too distracted by the rasp in his voice to pay much attention to it. He’s quick to blow out the lamp and crawl back into his bed, and she throws back the pill without thinking about it. But she can tell by his breathing that he’s still awake. It takes a long time for either of them to fall asleep. 

* * *

It’s not that they never touch, and it’s not that the leg thing was sexual; it’s just that it was not not-sexual. Murphy doesn’t act any different, but Raven is going out of her mind with how hyper aware she is whenever they do touch. Folding blankets, holding Knievel down for his flea and tick, restocking the pantry from the cellar. But really the breaking point is Murphy’s haircut that turns into a surreal experience, and for a full ten minutes, she has to wonder if he was right and she’s had a stroke.

For months, Murphy’s sporadic haircuts had been prime opportunities to threaten him with a bald head or boy band hair. But she finds herself staring at her hands which are completely wrapped up in his hair. 

“Jealous, Reyes?”

She looks up to see that Murphy’s been watching her in the bathroom mirror. 

“It takes you like an hour to do your hair every week. Skip the maintenance; let me give you a crew cut.”

She scoffs and gets back to trimming his hair. 

“You think I’d let you near me with scissors? I wouldn’t trust you with a pair of nail clippers.”

Normal haircut, normal banter, but she can still feel his eyes on her in the mirror. 

* * *

They tiptoe around whatever this is until the first storm hits about a week before what they think is Christmas. Raven wakes up in the morning to Murphy throwing another log on the fire and what sounds like a tornado outside. Knievel is actually burrowed underneath her covers, and Raven can’t feel her nose. She looks up at Murphy.

“Fuck, Murphy. Your lips are blue.”

He shrugs. “White people problems.”

“Nice.”

He smirks, but he’s also shivering, and Raven makes the offer without thinking about it. 

“Murphy, get in here.”

He pauses from where he’s rebuilding his blanket nest.

“What?”

She sits up (and instantly regrets it) and points aggressively to the spot on the other side of Knievel.

“Get in.”

She glares at him so he knows she means it, and then she wiggles back under the covers with her back to him. He brings his blankets, and she almost shrieks when he lifts the blankets and a gust of cold air sneaks in. But he’s quick to nestle in, and he’s warm, and Knieval seems to love it, so whatever. 

Between Murphy’s snores, Knievel’s snores, and the hurricane outside, Raven drops right back off. 

The next time she wakes up, Knievel is somehow in front of her, on her pillow, and breathing directly into her face, and Murphy is behind her. Doggie breath in the front, warm body behind her, and she’s still not sure which is the lesser evil. Knievel burps a little. Decision made. She leans back closer to Murphy, who wraps an arm around her and pulls her even closer. She squeaks, and he gives her a squeeze. 

“It’s below freezing in here. Don’t make it weird, Reyes.”

He’s warm as fuck, and his hands don’t wander, so whatever. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Reyes, wake up. It’s Christmas.”

She’s spooned up against Murphy, who’s peering over her shoulder. His hair’s falling over his eyes and tickling her neck. She looks out the window, and it’s still dark outside. 

“Oh my God, the sun’s not even up.”

She tries to hide under her pillow, but Murphy pulls it off her head. 

“Reyes. It’s Christmas.”

She glares at him. 

“You don’t know that. We have no idea when Christmas is.”

“I’m making an executive decision; it’s today.”

Murphy’s got a maniacal grin on his face, and she gives up. 

“Christ, I’m living with a five year old.”

Raven rolls over and pulls on a sweater. Murphy’s fiddling with the hot plate she jerry rigged, and she smells the hot chocolate before she sees it. He pours her a cup, and she holds it to warm up her hands. 

“I thought we ran out of swiss-miss?”

He holds up a used can of condensed milk and a box of cocoa powder.

“Murphy, I’m impressed.”

Knievel comes up to her for his usual morning face lick, and she sees the Christmas sweater he’s been forced into. 

“Murphy, I am horrified. What the fuck is he wearing?”

“Murphy actually looks insulted. 

“It’s his Christmas sweater. Green and red.”

“It’s lime green.”

“We have limited yarn options. Don’t be a dick about it.”

He’s miffed, so she shuts up and drinks her cocoa. It’s surprisingly delicious. 

“It’s time for presents.”

“What presents? Who said I got you presents?”

“There’s a box upstairs in your room with my name on it.”

She almost chokes on her drink.

“There is not! It just says ‘M’ on it. The ‘M’ stands for miscellaneous.” 

It’s not technically a lie, but either way, Murphy doesn’t buy it. He just stares at her until she puts the cup down and hobbles up the stairs. The ‘M’ really does stand for miscellaneous; it just so happens that some of the crap she’s thrown in there may or may not align with Murphy’s interests. There’s nothing essential in there; anything essential is shared or stored immediately. But there’s still some stuff that’s just nice to have. She brings the whole box down, and by the time she makes it downstairs, Murphy’s got all the lamps lit and is sitting next to his own miscellaneous box; it’s mostly full, and there’s a tiny ‘R’ written in one of the top corners. He points to her. 

“Murphy box.”

She stares pointedly at his box. “Raven box?”

“Yes.” And he says it so simply that she swallows down whatever insult she was going to throw at him and joins him on the couch. They sit on opposite ends of the couch, facing each other, and just start unpacking the boxes. 

Murphy hands her a jar of lavender epsom salts, and she hands him three packets of seeds for brown eyed susans. She gives him a rubik's cube, and he gives her a shitty look and a hat that matches Knievel’s hideous sweater. He hands her a new stack of Louis L’Amour books because she’s been devouring them over the past couple of weeks; she gives him a silent dog whistle she found in the vet, because after two weeks of aggressively teaching him three different ways to whistle, he still hasn’t picked it up. He ends up with a beginner’s guide to crocheting and a crochet hook, and he hands her a stack of old records. 

“Thanks?”

He gets up and goes into his own room. He drags a large wooden cabinet in and sets it against a wall. Raven can’t believe it. She watches him lift the lid and wind up the motor with a crank. He walks over and grabs one of the records out of her lap, and sets it onto the player. He drops the needle and opens the two doors in the front. Bing Crosby’s ‘White Christmas’ fills the room, and Raven stumbles over. She puts her hands on the cabinet. 

“How? And when?”

“A couple weeks ago. I snuck it in when you were in your workshop yelling about ‘bullshit fossil fuels’ or something.”

“Thank you, Murphy.”

He shrugs it off. “Don’t thank me yet. It only plays 78’s, and there’s not a lot of options. But you know, it’s something.”

She gives into the urge to kiss his cheek. He puts an arm around her waist and lets her lean against him. She wraps her arms around him, and they stand like that for a long time. 

“Merry Christmas, Raven.”

“Merry Christmas, John.”

They split a bowl of pudding made with condensed milk and only spend ten minutes arguing about which flavor to make. 

“Who the fuck actually likes pistachio pudding?”

“People with taste.”

They settle on vanilla with leftover banana chips that they take from Raven’s secret stash.

It’s a Christmas miracle. 

* * *

 

They celebrate New Year’s Eve with a bottle of brandy and Louis Armstrong. Murphy tries to solve the rubik’s cube but ends up chucking it across the room after fifteen minutes. He chucks a pillow at her face when she solves it in two minutes. Raven gets delightfully drunk and wonders where her alcohol tolerance went. 

“Did you ever have any of that shit Monty and Jasper cooked up?”

Murphy grimaces. “The jet fuel? Unfortunately, yes.”

“I used to be able to throw that shit back and wake up the next day, ready to kick-ass. Now I’m like two fingers in, and I can already feel the hangover.”

“I think fingers is for whiskey. Also, are you really complaining about not being a functional alcoholic?”

“No, I’m just. Pouting. It’s been almost two years, and I don’t even recognize my own body. I miss my body, Murphy.”

“Jesus Christ.”

She turns and sees Murphy take a swig straight from the bottle. He looks like he’s panicking.

“Your leg?” He’s quiet and bracing himself for a very uncomfortable conversation. 

She gives him a break. 

“Yes. But I meant everything else. I’m tired, like in my bones. Apocalyptic osteoporosis. The leg thing is shitty, but it’s not like the rest of me is doing that great either.”

Murphy shrugs. “I don’t know; your tits still look great.”

She can’t stop the slow smile on her face. 

“You say the sweetest things.”

He blows her a kiss and hands her the bottle. She spills it a bit, so he takes it back and hands her a bottle of water instead. 

“I know what you mean, Reyes. It’s hard to get up in the morning. Like how long do we have to keep doing this? It’s not the work; gardening is boring, but I don’t mind it. It’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I sleep like shit cause I always have to be ready to jump up and run or hide or kill someone. I can’t eat that much cause you never know how long you’re going to have to make that shit last. I mean when was the last time you felt full, actually full?”

Raven can’t remember, and she knows he can’t either. 

“It’s fight or flight all the goddamn time, and I’m exhausted.” He looks at her, and for the first time, he looks angry. 

“Do you think it’ll ever end?”

It’s a question she thinks about all the time. She thinks about lying, but it’s pointless. She answers him honestly. 

“No. I don’t think it will.”

Murphy sighs through his nose and nods. He goes outside and takes the bottle with him. Raven gives him a while to stew. She stares at her watch, counting down the minutes to midnight. She bundles up and heads outside. Murphy’s leaning against the house, and she takes the bottle from him and puts it on the ground. 

“The settlement, camp jaha, complete clusterfucks. What are we supposed to do when this shit blows up in our faces?”

Murphy was kicked out of the ark, and from what she can gather, camp jaha tore itself apart. It’s just the two of them here, but she thinks she hears what he’s asking-- _ what if this all burns down? What if one of us decides to leave? _

She thinks about all the times she asked him why he was following her. How he didn’t even fight her when she socked him. How she didn’t want to die alone. She thinks about how lonely you have to be to go after and stay with the one person who has every reason to want you dead. 

“Shit happens, Murphy. It happens, and you move on. And you rebuild.”

She leans against the wall next to him and nudges his shoulder. He looks at her, and she holds up the watch. 

“Ten minutes til midnight.”

She holds his hand as the time winds down, but he pulls his hand away when it hits midnight and drags it down his face. He grabs the bottle, takes a sip, and then holds it out to her. 

“We made it, Reyes. One year down. Well actually, half a year, and we didn’t even kill each other-”

She grabs his face and kisses him. He kisses her back, automatically, and Raven hears the bottle hit the ground. She keeps it chaste, but as soon as his hands are free, Murphy wraps them around her waist and hauls her in. He doesn’t take charge like she thought he would; he just follows her lead. But he kisses her like he means it. He kisses her like he’s been thinking about it for months. 

She slides her hands into his hair, and he groans when she tugs. His hands are trying to find their way under her six million sweaters, and when he finally finds the skin of her lower back, she gasps at how cold his hands are. Murphy takes advantage and swipes her lower lip with his tongue. She tugs his hair again and starts pulling him to the house. They stumble and bump into all the shit she forgot was in the living room. But it’s hard to care when they’re pulling their clothes off, and Murphy’s kissing every inch of her skin he can find. She has to lay down to get her brace and her pants off, but it’s worth it when he hikes her legs up around his waist. He’s careful to support her left one, and he still kisses it, even if she can’t feel it. 

He snickers when he sees her underwear.

“Fuck, I forgot about the granny panties.”

“They’re clean, Murphy. That’s literally all I care about. If you feel that strongly about it, feel free to knit me a g-string.”

He pauses like he’s actually thinking about it, so she pulls him down and kisses him. When he pulls away, she burps in his face and nearly dies of humiliation. He looks like he’s going to laugh, but then he frowns and pulls away. He grabs his shirt and pulls it back on and then lays back down. Raven pops up and stares at him. 

“You can’t seriously tell me that this is a dealbreaker. Last week you farted so loud Knievel started barking.”

“I don’t care about your burp, Reyes. Even if it was kind of pathetic. I mean, a solid three at best. But I don’t want to do it this way.”

He gestures at the two of them, and Raven raises an eyebrow. 

“It might be a little vanilla, but it’s not like I can reverse cowgirl that shit.”

He blushes and shifts his hips a bit, but he grabs her hand when she reaches for him. 

“I don’t want to do this when we’ve been drinking, and I’ve been feeling sorry for myself. I don’t want a pity fuck, and I don’t want you to regret a single damn thing in the morning.”

“Are you saying you want it to be special?” She’s teasing him, but he doesn’t crack. She sighs. 

“I’m a big girl, Murphy. I’m not afraid to say no, and I get to decide if I’m making a mistake.”

“True. But it’s a two way street, and I don’t want to remember it like this.”

“And what’s this?”

“Tipsy and tired and wondering if this is really happening.”

He laces their fingers together. 

“I want to fuck you, Raven. I want to remember every moan, and I want you to watch me go down on you, and I want you to say my name every time you come. I want to take my time, and I don’t want to taste like cheap brandy when it happens.”

He looks her in the eye the entire time, and she can feel how hot her face is. She’s also embarrassingly wet, and there’s a small smirk on Murphy’s face like he knows it. He kisses her hand.

“It’s the end of the world, Reyes. I wanna enjoy whatever time I’ve got left.”

She nods and squeezes his hand. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 


	6. Chapter 6

Raven wakes up the next morning with a shitty hangover and a hand rubbing her back. She turns and looks at Murphy who’s reading a book with a buxom blonde and a man wearing half a shirt. He sets id won and meets her eyes. 

“I feel like something died in my stomach and crawled out through my mouth.”

Murphy stops moving his hand. 

“Are you going to vomit?”

“What am I, twelve?”

“So, you’re good?”

Raven props her chin on his chest.

“Murphy. The only thing I regret is that shitty brandy. I’m a top-shelf kind of girl. Germain-Robin or bust.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll look for that next time.”

He starts rubbing her back again, and she dozes her hangover away. 

* * *

Murphy comes with her to her workshop. She’s laying out plans and listing the materials she needs for the turbine. She’d found a pamphlet on residential wind turbine installation and maintenance. She had a good idea on how to build it, but getting her hands on the parts it the new problem.

“Collins was your first right?”

He’s sitting on a bale of hay, so it’s easy to chuck a screwdriver at him; he dodges it. 

God save her from insecure men.

“He was my childhood sweetheart; of course he was my first.”

“Okay, good.”

She stares at him in disbelief. 

“I’m sorry-are you worried that I’ve been with a lot of people? Worried that I’m not pure enough for you?”

That was the thing about Catholicism; it reared it’s ugly head at the worst times. 

Murphy looks up at her from where he’s spinning the screwdriver around his fingers.

“What? No. I don’t give a shit how many people you’ve been with. Just wanted to know how low the bar is. I mean, he was taller than me and had great hair, but I promise I give better head.”

“Oh my god. That’s actually worse.”

She throws another screwdriver at him, but this time he catches it.

“Look, Reyes. I’m a competitive piece of shit. You know this. Accept it.”

She raises an eyebrow. 

“You know I slept with Bellamy, right?”

The smirk falls right off his face.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. It was a rebound thing after I found out about Finn and Clarke. After they tried to kill you, but before you shot me.”

“What the fuck, Reyes?”

She almost feels bad for him. 

“Look, I know that you hate him cause he tried to hang you and everything but-”

“How the hell am I supposed to compete with that?”

“I-what?”

“Have you seen him?”

“Obviously-”

“He’s like a Greek God. The arms, the voice, the freckles?”

Raven’s not sure what her face looks like, but her voice cracks. 

“Murphy. Are you like gay for Bellamy?”

He looks at her. “Are you not?”

She ignores that.

“Anyways. We need to find a Home Depot.”

“You might have noticed that ye olde google and ye olde GPS are not working. How are we supposed to find one?”

“Phonebook, Murphy. You know, those big yellow bricks they put outside your door where you just leave it and ignore it until it rains and gets soggy and gross and then you have to throw it away?”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Reyes.”

“I know. Get in the car.”

They find a phonebook and the addresses of eight Home Depots in the state of Iowa.

“Well, we can nix the four in Des Moines. Those are death traps if there’s even anything left.”

“Sioux City and Council Bluff are way too far.”

“There’s two left then. Bettendorf and Clinton.”

Murphy stares down at the atlas and grimaces. 

“What?”

“These are on the Missouri river.”

She’s confused. 

“Yeah, so?”

He frowns. “People gravitate to water. Not everyone has a well, or a water tower, or a Raven Reyes. The closer we get to the river, the higher the chance we start running into people.”

Raven shrugs. “We knew that it was going to happen eventually. If we do, at least they won’t know where we live.”

He’s still frowning and looks at her. 

“How important is this?”

“Very.”

He nods. “Okay.”

* * *

They pack up the car, bug out bags and gas in the truck bed, and Knievel in the back seat. Murphy drives, and Raven traces the route in the atlas.

“Shouldn’t take more than a couple hours. And that’s if the roads are total shit.”

“I doubt it. Everyone was trying to get out of the city, not in.”

Murphy’s been quiet all morning. At first she thought he was pouting, but now she knows he’s worried.

“Why are you so nervous?”

It comes out snippy, but he doesn’t take the bait.

“People are shitty, Raven. And territorial. And it’s not like we’ve got a map that tells us which areas are taken.”

“What, you think they’ll shoot us on sight?”

She’s joking, but he looks shifty. 

“Some people are going to shoot first and ask questions never.”

Raven watches him fiddle with the mirrors.

“You really think it’s going to be that bad?”

“What would you do if someone came wandering into our town solely to steal shit?”

Raven thinks about the C-4 in her bag and fertilizer bombs she’s been working on. Murphy sees it in her face. 

“Yeah, exactly. We can’t all lead the Clarke and Bellamy welcome wagon”

She watches the tick in his jaw and thinks about the scars she’d seen-the angry, new ones. 

“John. What happened after Camp Jaha? What happened before me?”

He shrugs. “Nothing good.”

Raven doesn’t say anything; she just waits for him to answer. 

“I left Jaha cause he’s a dick, and uh, I was doing okay for a little while. But I ran into a group that doesn’t fuck around, and they uh, made it clear that they didn’t like trespassers.”

“They ripped you apart?”

“Yeah, literally actually - they took all my fingernails out. But they ended up dropping me off at Fort AP Hill.”

“The forts are still open?”

“This one was. They cleaned me up, got me better. They still had power, real food. It was a sweet set-up.”

“Then why did you leave?”

“They were trying to find a cure. They needed test subjects.”

Raven feels her pulse kick up a notch.

“Murphy did they-”

“No. I got out. They wait til you’re healthy. Cause you know, you don’t want a tainted specimen.”   


“Jesus. How did you get out?”

He looks her in the eye.

“I set the infected loose, and then I burned the place down.”

She takes that in for a moment. 

“Were there other people in there? Other test subjects?”

“Yes.”

He says it simply, and he seems calmer now, and Raven knows that he doesn’t regret it. That if he was given the choice, he’d do the same thing all over again. She thinks about Finn shooting anyone who even looked like they might be infected. She thinks about watching him shoot a kid in the head point blank, and the look she shared with Clarke when they both realized that they were losing him. She thinks about how many buildings she’s blown up without caring about where they fell because it was for the greater good, and Finn was safe, so who cared? She thinks about it, and she looks at him.

He might not regret it, but he cares what she thinks. 

“Okay.”

They don’t talk after that. 

* * *

They make it to Clinton in an hour and a half. There are more bodies on the roads here, and they're very obviously rotting. But when they stop and roll down the windows, they don’t hear anything. There were so used to their tiny town that being in a city, even a small one, takes some getting used to. They find the Home Depot and pull into the parking lot which is a bloody, glass covered disaster. Murphy actually pulls into a parking spot out of habit, and Raven makes a face at him.

“This shit is going to be heavy. Pull up as close as you can.”

They’d written up a shopping list, and filling a shopping cart with shit they need and arguing about how many tape measures they really need somehow feels more domestic than sharing a bed. She’s so busy dragging Murphy away from the utility knives and towards the solar panel display that neither of them notice that Knievel has stopped moving. He’s staring behind them and sniffing. They notice when he starts to softly growl, but it’s too late. 

“Will the driver of the gray piece of shit outside please come up to the customer service counter?”

It’s so quiet in the store that they hear the voice echo and the footsteps of more than one person. They leave the cart and Murphy pushes her toward the back of the store. It’s impossible for her to tiptoe, so he wraps an arm around her waist and helps her hobble. Knievel follows them, but the clicking of his nails on the cement floor sound like gunshots. 

“We know you’re in here. Tell me if we’re getting warmer. Marco?”

Murphy moves quicker. They’re heading to the gardening greenhouse, but the automatic doors are jammed. 

“Marco?”

The voice is closer, but they’re taking their time; it’s more fun that way. 

Murphy looks at the door and starts trying to pry them open. He gets them wedged but the space is barely enough for one person. He yanks Raven’s backpack off and pushes her through the wedge, but her brace gets caught. 

“Marco!”

Much closer. Murphy leans down and basically rips the brace off, and Raven slides through, landing hard on her side. He passes her the brace and her gun and her bag, and then he turns and runs. 

She can’t call out, but she grabs Knievel and hauls him in as well. The brace is broken so she has to drag herself and Knievel to the corner behind the wilted palms. She clamps a hand around Knievel’s muzzle to keep him quiet, and listens to what’s happening. 

“I hear you running, Marco!”

It’s further away, and she hears a crash and a yelp of pain. 

“He fucking stabbed me!”

It’s a different voice, but it’s definitely not Murphy.

She smirks to herself but frowns when she hears another crash.

“There you are, Marco!”

Another crash and a loud grunt of pain, and she realizes that they’re throwing Murphy against the shelves. Knievel whines, and she drags him closer.

“What are you doing here? Just doing some light shopping?”

She doesn’t know what Murphy says, but she hears the smack afterwards. 

“We’re not a big fan of thieves or smart asses. But we do like presents. The truck’s a piece of shit, but you’ve got some decent supplies in there. Mind if we help ourselves? Sharing is caring, you know.”

She hears them drag him outside, and she’s furious. She can’t run after them, and she has no idea where they’re taking him. She hears them hollering in the parking lot, and she moves closer to a hole in the greenhouse wall and peers out. They’re raiding the truck and loading the supplies into their own truck which is labeled “Clinton Marina”. Murphy was right. People move to the water. 

He must say something else dickish because he gets a kidney shot before they throw him into the bed of their truck. They drive off, yelling obnoxiously and Knievel whines beside her. 

She rubs his ears and gets moving.

* * *

Raven gets her brace fixed in twenty minutes and an alarming amount of firepower in under thirty. She’s still got the C-4 in her backpack, and enough explosives to take out a city block. Drain cleaner, paint thinner, lighter fluid, aerosol cans. She throws it all in the truck, grabs a map of Clinton, and hits the road. She stops a mile out from the marina and heads forward on foot. Knievel’s by her side and a knife in her hand. She’s got about nine knives strapped to her body and her rifle slung up on her back. The roads are still in good shape, but she goes through back yards and sticks behind the houses. Midwestern towns are flat enough that towns and cities are built on grids that actually make sense and make it very hard to hide. It takes a while, but she finds enough brush near the river that she can get a good idea of who and what she’s dealing with.

The first thing she learns is that these fuckers are a disorganized mess. They’ve got more guns than brains, and that might have kept them alive so far, but not for long. They’re mostly living on the boats like the world’s shittiest pirates, and Raven spots a dozen spots that she can work with. Not to mention the two propane tanks they’re using to power a couple of goddamn grills. She won’t even need half the shit that she brought. Still, it doesn’t hurt to send a message. They’re all standing around a boat in the center, a mass of dirty, bearded weirdos, and then she hears a splash and a roar of laughter. Murphy’s dangling over the side of the boat, a rope around his neck, and they’re taking turns dunking him into the river. Redneck waterboarding. The Marco Polo asshole pats Murphy on the head the next time he’s dragged up, and Murphy spits a mouthful of water in his face. The asshole shoves him into the water. Raven knows the game. They’ll keep doing this for as long as they can; it’s only fun if he keeps fighting it. They might be cruel, but Murphy’s stubborn. She ignores the cheers and sound of Murphy retching and makes a plan.

She waits til it gets dark and then waits a little more. They leave Murphy tied up on the deck of the of the Marco asshole, the makeshift noose still around his neck, and then they spend the next couple of hours getting drunk around a stupidly large and visible fire. She can’t believe they’ve stayed alive this long.  But one by one, they drift off to their respective nautical shit holes until there’s just one guy nodding off by the fire. As soon as he’s slumped over, Raven’s up and moving, pointing to Knievel to stay and wait. She’s brought the supplies that can give her the biggest bang. She douses the aerosol cans in lighter fluid and drops a couple around the fire pit and then one on the deck of every boat. She even sticks one in the muffler of every car. She finishes it off by trailing the paint thinner and drain cleaner around the entire campsite and ending at the propane tanks. It takes ages to do it quietly, but it’s ready to go. She hides in the underbrush, raises her rifle and braces it against her shoulder. She lets loose on the boats the furthest away from Murphy. The first can explodes with the single most satisfying bang she’s ever heard. It takes out half the boat, and she’s got stars in her eyes from the blaze. She blinks and keeps going. Everyone’s awake now, and Raven doesn’t hesitate to light the motherfuckers up. The yells turn into screams as the people panic, trying to jump onto another boat, only to realize it’s burning too. She leaves a buffer around Murphy’s boat, and the Marco Polo dickwad knows it. She’s started to shoot the stragglers who get too close to her. The asshole holds Murphy in front of him and drags him away from the flames and closer to her. 

“I don’t know who the fuck you are, but I’m walking out of here. You blow me up, you blow him up.”

Raven shoots around his feet, and he swears and ducks behind Murphy who doesn’t even flinch. He can’t see her, but he trusts her. 

“Fine. That’s how you want to play it? Fine!”

He wraps a hand around the rope at Murphy’s neck and yanks. Murphy’s head jerks up, and his entire body straightens as he’s pulled onto his tiptoes, covering the asshole completely. The fires are combining, and she can hear more cans explode and the screams getting louder. She’s running out of time. 

“I’ll let him go if you let me through. Do we have a deal?”

Murphy’s trying to shake his head, but she ignores him. She lines her scope up, takes a deep breath, and shoots. 

The bullet tears through Murphy’s shoulder and into the asshole’s arm. They both drop to the ground, and Murphy rolls away. She shoots the fucker straight in the face.  As soon as he’s down, she’s up and moving. She slings the rifle over her back and races to Murphy. He’s groaning and bleeding on the ground, but the first thing she does is cut the rope off his neck. She rips the shirt off the dead asshole, makes a tourniquet, and helps him up and off the ground. She hurries them away as fast as she can drag him. They get to the brush and Knievel and follow him through the trees. Suddenly they hear growling and a yelp, and Raven grabs the biggest knife she has. They catch up to Knievel who’s got a mouthful of some kid’s jeans. Judging from the acne and patchy five o’clock shadow, he can’t be more than nineteen.

“Hey!”

The kid turns and looks at her and looks even more afraid. 

“Do you wanna live tonight?”

The kid looks from her to Knievel to the inferno behind them and nods frantically. 

“Help me get him away from here, and I swear to god, I’ll let you walk away from this.”

The kid’s not stupid. He jumps up and moves to Murphy’s other side and immediately starts hauling ass. They’re about a hundred yards from the truck when the propane tanks go. They stumble, and Murphy hits the ground. His shirt is soaked with blood, and it takes them all a minute to get their bearings. Raven’s ears are ringing, and Knievel’s already taken off to the truck. Murphy’s barely conscious by the time Raven gets him into the truck. She points to the bed of the truck. 

“Get in the back. We’ll take you into town, and then you’re on your own.”

The kid nods and hops in. 

She gets into the truck and guns it. Murphy’s quiet in the passenger seat, and she slaps him.

“Murphy. Wake up!”

His eyes are puffy and swollen, but his hand still reaches out for hers. Their hands are slippery with blood, but she doesn’t let go. 

“Raven. I don’t want to die alone either.”

He sounds small and young and scared. 

“Don’t you dare die on me, John Murphy. You’re not going anywhere.”

She floors it.   


	7. Chapter 7

The kid, Brian, helps her find the city’s biggest pet store--the kind with a small veterinary office inside. He helps her unload Murphy and drop him on the biggest counter they can find. The vet is in surprisingly good shape underneath the bloody hand and paw prints. Raven’s able to find a pack of fentanyl patches, and she slaps a few on Murphy who tries to sit up.  
“What the hell are those?” His speech is a little slurred, and he’s having a hard time keeping his eyes on her face.  
“Fentanyl. It’ll help with the pain.”  
“You couldn’t have just knocked me out with the valium?”  
“You’ve been hit in the head like a dozen times; there’s no way you don’t have a concussion. You can’t sleep; you have to stay awake.”  
“Raven, I don’t think that’s going to happen. I’m either about to puke or pass out.”  
She grimaces.  
“Don’t worry. This next part will keep you up.”  
Raven pulls out the flask of vodka from her bag and nods at Brian.  
“Hold him down.”  
“Who the fuck-”Murphy barely gets the words out before Brian’s pinning him down, and Raven’s dumping the vodka on the wound.  
Murphy does vomit--all over Brian, who to his credit, doesn’t flinch; he just tightens his grip on Murphy.  
She’s right though; Murphy stays awake through the messy stitches and the occasional vodka rinse. The fentanyl kicks in about halfway through, and Brian holds Murphy and the flashlight steady. After the stitches are done and as good as they’re going to get (where was Clarke when you needed her), Raven checks for other wounds. His ribs are a mottled, fucked up mess.  
“Broken?”  
Brian gives them a once over. “Probably. Murphy?”  
Murphy looks over at him. The swelling in his face has fully set in, and his eyes are just drugged up slits.  
“Murphy, I need you to take the deepest breath you can.”  
Brian puts a hand on each side of Murphy’s ribcage, and Raven watches as Murphy tries to inhale. It’s fairly deep, but the exhale is shaky and pained. When Brian presses his hand on the bruised right side, Murphy lets out a whimper. Brian takes his hands off.  
“Fractured. Whenever you get back to wherever the hell you came from, you’ll need to ice them. And drugs. Good drugs.”  
Raven glares at him, and the kid shuts up. She was hoping that they were just bruised, but he’s probably right though.  
“How long til he heals?”  
Brian shrugs. “Month if he’s lucky; two if you guys run into more trouble.”  
Raven pinches her nose and sighs.  
“Help me get him back in the car.”  
It takes them a minute, but they get Murphy situated in the passenger seat, titled all the way back. Knievel is in the backseat, and Raven digs through the store’s treat aisles until she comes across some kind of liver goop that she mears all over the side of Murphy’s face. Knievel automatically goes to town, licking and slobbering all over Murphy who tries to bat him away.  
“Keep it up, Knievel; we need to keep him awake.”  
It’s gross, but it works. Brian waits awkwardly until she points to the truck bed, and he clambers in. She keeps her word. She drives until she sees a car that’s still in good shape and has a full tank of gas.  
“Do you know how to hotwire a car?”  
Brian shakes his head, and Raven grits her teeth.  
“Okay, come here, and pay attention.”  
It takes him a couple tries, but he gets it.  
She gives him her back-up energy bars, a hand crank flashlight, and her biggest knife.  
“I know it’s tempting but stay away from the cities. The dead might be dying out but the assholes are still alive and banding together.”  
She gives him a pointed look and gets into the truck.  
“I’m uh, I’m sorry this all happened; I didn’t think it would get this bad. They were my friends.”  
Raven gives him a once-over. He’s still covered in vomit and blood and looks oddly pathetic, and she has to remind herself that they aren’t a position to start picking up strays.  
“Find better friends.” She doesn’t say it meanly.  
He nods and gets in his car. She doesn’t linger, but she keeps an eye on him in the rearview mirror until his tail lights disappear. The drive home is a weird mix of reapplying liver goop to Murphy’s face, laughing at Knievel, and swallowing down the guilt like bile.  
“Reyes?” His eyes aren’t open, but he’s stroking Knievel.  
“Yeah, Murphy?”  
“Did you at least get the shit you needed?”  
“Murphy, what the fuck? Do you know me at all? You think I just went straight Rambo for you and then came home empty handed?Of fucking course I got what we needed. It’s called multi-tasking.”  
Her voice cracks, but she sees Murphy’s arm trying to reach for her, and she doesn’t hesitate to grab his hand and squeeze.  
“You followed me, asshole, and now you’re stuck with me.”  
“Lucky me.”  
He says it sarcastically, but he squeezes her hand right back.  
“You know that this means you’re going to have to give me sponge baths right?”  
She rolls her eyes. “Lucky me.”

* * *

She watches him wake up. He takes his time, stretching and rubbing at his face, but he stops when he gets goosebumps. His eyes snap open, and he pauses, listening. Murphy rolls over and gives her a surprised look.  
“Raven Reyes, is that the sweet, sweet sound of central air?”  
“Happy Birthday, loser.”  
Murphy quirks an eyebrow. “It’s not my birthday.”  
“I made an executive decision,” she says dryly.  
She kisses him, quick and chaste, and then rolls over to straddle him.  
“Besides, I can’t be with a scorpio.”  
Murphy swats her ass.  
“Spoken like a true leo.”  
He jostles her with his hips, and she has to brace herself with her hands. She’s careful not to put too much pressure on his ribs; Raven ghosts her fingers down his sides out of habit.  
“Ask me why I followed you.”  
She rolls her eyes.  
“Why were you following me, prick?”  
He runs his hands from her hips down to her legs and back up again.  
“Because I was scared. Because I felt guilty. Because I didn’t have anything left. Because you didn’t either. Because I was sorry--am sorry. And because, most importantly of all, because you are the only person I know who looks sexy covered in zombie guts.”  
She drags her thumb over his cheekbone.  
“Even sexier than Bellamy covered in zombie guts?”  
Murphy lets out a low whistle (he’d gotten the hang of it) and pretended to look thoughtful.  
“Not gonne lie, Reyes. He’s a close second.”  
She grinds down on him, and he grabs her hips to hold her in place.  
“I can live with that.”  
His hands move up, and he covers her scar. She automatically slides her hand to touch his. It’s an ugly knot of tissue, still red and angry looking, but he doesn’t hiss when she touches it. She thinks about the month and a half of amateur physical therapy and questionable antibiotics. She thinks about her own ugly scar. She wonders if they’re even now.  
“His and hers. I still can’t believe you shot me.”  
“I did it to save you. And you shot me first, dickwad.”  
“In my defense, I thought you were Octavia.”  
“Don’t tell Bellamy that.”  
Murphy grimaces, and they both get quiet for a moment.  
“You could have left me there.”  
Raven nods. “I could have.”  
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did. But I hoped that you wouldn’t.”  
She knows that he’s being honest. So she’s honest too.  
“I would never leave you like that.”  
She says it simply, and he props himself up on his elbows to say something, but she beats him to it.  
“You’re a grade a asshole, John Murphy. You’ve done a lot of fucked up things. But no one, and I do mean no one, gets to kill you but me.”  
Murphy smiles, a small, genuine thing.  
“I like you too, Reyes.”  
She cups his face, kissing him as his hands unbraid her hair. He smoothly flips them over and buries his face in her hair. She runs her hands down his back, watching the muscles shift as she alternates between gripping him and skimming her fingers just enough to tickle. He raises his head to look at her.  
“Reyes, do you want a tickle fight or an orgasm? Your choice.”  
She leans up and grazes his jaw with her teeth.  
“Orgasm, straight up with a twist. Hold the dick.”  
Murphy rolls his eyes, but slides down her body and kneels between her legs. He slides her underwear off and then hikes her legs over his shoulders. He puts a kiss on each thigh, the way he always does, and she pushes his hair out of his eyes, the way she always does, and then he goes to town, and she doesn’t give a shit about their romantic gestures.

* * *

The first time had pretty much been a disastrous mess. It had been frantic, the kind of ‘I’m alive, you’re alive’ fuck that didn’t feel great, but at least they were alive enough to do it. Now they could take their time. Finn had always been so anxious to know he was doing a good job that he spent half the time asking if she liked that and if she did, he just kept doing it until she was sick of it. And of course, with Bellamy technique didn’t matter since they were both thinking about someone else. Murphy doesn’t say anything, just lets her face and her body do the talking. The first time he started treating her like glass, she had pushed him off of her and onto the floor.  
“I’m not fucking breakable, Murphy. Don’t pussyfoot around because my leg makes you uncomfortable. I don’t have time for that, and I’m just as capable of getting myself off.”  
He had fixed her with a look.  
“Reyes, in case you hadn’t noticed, I haven’t had sex in over a year. I’m taking my time so I don’t cream my pants. It’s not always about you, you know.” He had only lasted for about five minutes after that, but he had more than made up for it.

Now though, now he took his time because it drove her up the wall. He knew what she liked--two fingers in and slow circles around her clit with his tongue. She knew what he liked--a hand in his hair that pulled just tight enough to hurt, and her eyes on his the entire time. Anytime she looked away, he would stop, and too often her eyes would slip shut or her head would tilt back, and so it went, a slow teasing game that built her up to the edge and yanked her back.  
She watched him now, propped up by pillows and a desperate need to come.  
“I thought I requested a twist.”  
Murphy rolled his eyes and nipped her thigh. He gave her the twist though, a quick brush against her g-spot that made her thighs clench. Her eyes closed and he pulled away. She forced them open and stared him down.  
“Don’t be a tease.”  
He shifted his fingers and moved relentlessly against the nerves, his mouth on her clit, and she came hard, her body jerking and a loud moan that turned into a whine when Murphy dragged his tongue over her. She shied away, too sensitive to handle it. He pulls away, kissing her hip to hip, and moving up her body. She keeps her hands in his hair, running her fingers through it and trying to undo the knots she put there. He shifts up, biting and sucking her nipples through her tank top until she starts to squirm, and then kisses her. She licks into him, as eager to taste herself on him as he is to feel her do it. The first time she’d done it, he ended up coming right then and there on her stomach. He was used to her doing it now, but he still groaned into her mouth every time.  
They kiss until Raven drags her hand down his chest and grips him, rubbing her hand until she feels the fabric get damp, and Murphy shifts to pull his underwear off. She slips her tank top over her head and smiles when he gets distracted by her breasts. He snaps a condom on and hikes her bum leg over his shoulder again before sliding into her. She’s still slick and wet, and they both groan when he bottoms out. He drops to his forearms, and she pulls him closer, wrapping her other leg around him. He buries his face back in her hair and starts to move. He keeps his thrusts short and sharp, eager to push them both over the edge. She keeps her hand in his hair and digs her teeth into his shoulder, and his hips stutter a bit. They both like a little pain with their pleasure, and she doesn’t want to touch that Catholic bullshit with a ten foot pole. But it makes her toes curl when he pulls a hand down to pinch and twist her nipple. His mouth finds hers in a sloppy, open mouthed kiss before he shifts his head back to the side. Raven moves to his ear, tracing it with the tip of her tongue before biting and pulling on his earlobe. He groans and thrusts faster, and she digs her nails into his back to urge him to go harder. Her leg is basically up to her ear, and it’s one of the few times she’s glad she can’t feel anything, because she’s pretty sure her muscles are screaming right now. But the pressure is building back up in her, and Murphy leans on one arm so he can use the other one to rub her clit. She comes again and clenches around him, and she knows he’s close. He tangles his fingers around hers, and she whispers “Come for me, John” right in his ear, and he immediately does.  
He shifts her leg down from his shoulder and pulls out to take care of the condom. But he lays back down on her, resting his head between the valley between her breasts. She keeps a hand on his neck, and they stay that way until their breaths even out and the sweat dries, and Raven decides that even with A/C it’s too hot to stay like this. She slaps Murphy’s ass.  
“Good game, kid. Now hit the showers.”  
He grins up at her. “You comin with?”  
“Sure. But I gotta let Knievel in first.”  
“I don’t know why you always kick him out.”  
“Because you haven’t made eye contact with him mid-orgasm. Now go start the shower. And get the fancy conditioner. You’ve completely tangled my hair.”  
“So high maintenance, Reyes. What happened to the simple, country girl I know and love?”  
She pushes him off the bed, but he’s laughing when he hits the floor.

* * *

The solar panels are interesting, but the wind turbines work better. Murphy’s gardens bloom, and Raven finds him a hideous apron that he actually uses. The jam he makes is fucking terrible, but his wildflowers are beautiful, and they get tons of bees. Raven draws up plans for a hive, and Murphy starts repairing her barn.

They end up with four more dogs and three cats.

Raven commandeers a radio tower, and starts working on a coded signal that only Bellamy and Clarke can understand.

They show up before she can even finish. They trigger the cornfield minefield because they’re being chased by five dogs, and Bellamy and Miller have to help Monty out of the tree he scrambled up trying to escape. Raven greets them with an assault rifle.

Clarke looks ragged but glowing. She’s got her hair braided and pulled back, and there’s a giant, ugly bruise on her cheek, but her eyes are bright, and there’s a triumphant smirk on her face. She’s got a sawed off shotgun strapped to her back and at least four knives that Raven can see. Bellamy just looks exhausted. Nose is definitely broken, and his knuckles are a torn up mess that means he’s been beating the shit out of someone, but he doesn’t look dead inside, which can only mean--  
“Octavia?”  
Clarke smiles. “She and Lincoln are following behind, making sure no one followed us. All in one piece. She’s scary as fuck now, though.”  
Bellamy’s head is down, but Raven can see the proud smirk on his face.  
“Abbey?”  
Clarke frowns. “Complicated. Are you--”  
She stops when she hears the rustling from the cornfield, but Raven doesn’t turn. She feels Murphy come up behind her, and the look on Bellamy’s face is a dead give away. He’s got a knife in his hand and moving straight to Murphy, but Raven slams the side of her rifle into his face, and Bellamy hits the ground like a bag of bricks. Everyone stares at her. She aims the gun straight at him, and Clarke automatically steps forward, her hand swinging her shotgun off her back.  
“Murphy lives here. You don’t touch him. You have a problem with that? Leave.”  
Murphy keeps his face neutral, but he moves closer to Raven and grabs the back of her shorts and pulls her away from Bellamy. He walks over and extends his hand to help Bellamy up. He takes it, and they stare at each other for a minute before he stalks over to Clarke.  
Murphy looks at Clarke.  
“How the hell did you guys find us?”  
Clarke’s eyebrows are halfway up her face, and she lowers her own gun.  
“We ran into a kid in Ohio. He said that some crazy bitch in Iowa blew up half the city and destroyed his camp. Actually he said you were a ‘crazy bitch with a cool dog and an assault rifle’ and we knew immediately it was you. We worked our way from Clinton, hit most of the small towns. Knew we had the right one when we saw fresh tire tracks and running water.”  
Raven turns to Murphy who says, “he didn’t even mention me? Fucking rude.”  
She shrugs. “You threw up on him, babe. I doubt he was bragging about that.”  
“Good call, Reyes.”  
She turns back to Clarke and Bellamy.  
“Are people going to come after you? Are you looking for a place to lay low or a place to settle?”  
Clarke and Bellamy have a silent conversation that lasts longer than she expected, but she waits them out.  
Bellamy is the one who answers.  
“No one’s coming after us--that we’re aware of. We’re a bigger group, so people tend to be attracted to us. But we’ve got enough firepower that it shouldn’t be a problem. We need to settle soon, but we saw the shape the town is in. We don’t want to run down your supplies.  
Murphy gives her an amused look, and she struggles not to laugh. She has a silent conversation with Murphy who just shrugs.  
“I don’t know why you’re looking at me. It’s your call.”  
She turns back to Clarke.  
“Our shape is good. Bellamy and Murphy can’t stay in the same house. But it shouldn’t be too hard to extend the grid out.”  
She’s already thinking about how she’s going to do that, so she misses the looks Clarke’s group are giving her.  
“What grid?”  
Murphy answers. “Grid of civilization. We have electricity. We have gardens. We’ve got vocational books to get our basic skills up to speed. We’re self-sustaining.”  
Bellamy and Miller look impressed, Monty looks like he’s died and gone to heaven. Clarke just looks hopeful.  
“Raven, do you-”  
“Yes. We have indoor plumbing and hot showers.”  
“Oh my god.”  
Clarke crashes into her, and she has to wrap her arms around her to keep steady. Murphy leads the others into the house, except for Bellamy who says he has to go direct Octavia and Lincoln in. Clarke leans back and tilts Raven’s face with her hand; she’s probably looking to make sure she doesn’t have a concussion. Raven doesn’t stop her.  
“Seriously, you and Murphy?”  
Raven smiles a little, and hopes to god it isn’t as dopey looking as it usually is.  
“Yeah, me and Murphy. It’s the end of the world, Clarke. You gotta work with what you have.”  
When Clarke’s hand drops, Raven reaches out to poke the bruise on Clarke’s face. She winces a little.  
“You good?”  
“Yeah, nothing out of the norm. Are you good?”  
Raven thinks about it. “About as good as it’s going to get, considering the circumstances. I’m okay, if that’s what you’re asking.”  
Clarke hesitates and braces herself.  
“Are we good?”  
Raven thinks about Clarke standing over what was left of Finn. She thinks about her own hand on the trigger and watching Murphy hit the ground. She thinks about the way he looks at her in the morning, like he can’t believe she’s still here. She thinks about how she does the same thing. She pulls the two headed deer necklace out from under her shirt, pulls it out over her head, and hands it to Clarke who gives her the soft look she usually saves for Bellamy.  
“Yeah, Clarke. We’re good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks! Thanks to everyone who gave this hot ass mess a shot. To date this is the longest fic I've ever written, and despite the plotholes and desperately needed editing, I'm really proud of the fact that I've finished it. Also, as you can probably tell from vague descriptions of post-apocalyptic living, I would never survive any kind of worldwide epidemic, so thanks for bearing through the completely inaccurate details surrounding...everything. 
> 
> I am hoping and planning to do a companion piece that's basically describing Clarke and Bellamy's part of the story and what they ran into, so here's hoping I actually get started on that. 
> 
> So thank you for reading and leaving kudos and comments!! Much appreciated!!

**Author's Note:**

> I adjusted the chapters so that they were longer, so if your comment is gone then first of all Thank you for commenting!! and second of all, don't worry, I still have them in my inbox and I'll reply if I haven't already. I was posting this kind of sporadically cause I was treating this as a half-assed nanowrimo attempt, but going forward the chapters will be longer. Thanks for sticking with me through the crazy edits!


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